


Shiny Things

by Yin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mecha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yin/pseuds/Yin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never asked to be heroes, but they've been chosen to keep the galaxy safe anyways.  With middle fingers raised, they'll take on the universe's sick sense of humor.</p><p>Find out what happens when a group of idiots become mech pilots in an intergalactic battle.</p><p>...We're (maybe?) (probably?) most definitely screwed.</p><p>{An AU inspired by <i>Voltron: Legendary Defender</i> and <i>Mass Effect</i>.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Noobs Rush In (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The red-haired woman stood perfectly still on the catwalk, gripping the guardrail lightly with her hands.  Her green eyes glanced down at the slightly glowing cyan “lines” splayed out on what was visible of her hands and arms.

Carolina was only half Veroni and had never felt comfortable covering her arms in the second skin nano-mesh that so many of her younger brother’s people did.  The few times when she had attempted to do so had made her feel like her body’s movements were oddly restricted, despite how she knew that that logically wasn’t the case.

Towering above her was the gigantic, oddly humanoid form of the mech unit Black.  It was the only one of its kind to have survived the escape from Earth.  A testament, the woman supposed, of its pilot’s skill. 

As it was, Black was an imposing sight even when offline.  Its presence seemed to fill the giant hangar completely despite the space around it, so used to housing fleets of spaceships, currently unoccupied.

Perhaps it was the fact that, even with the repairs for Black underway, the piece of ancient technology had obviously gone through hell and back that made it such an intimidating sight.

The mech was indeed a battered weapon with bullet holes that still needed to be repaired and scorch marks that needed to be removed.  The right arm and left leg both needed replacements, instead of the rough shod patchwork they had to rely on earlier to keep it functioning during a previous fight.

According to Black’s specs, repairs would take a few more days.  The mech still needed some functionality in the meanwhile.  She sighed, leaning somewhat against the guardrail.

It had been a little over a year since they had found safe harbor here on Chorus, and the fighting against Charon in the Outer Colonies never seemed to let up.  Three years since the fall of Project Freelancer and their harried escape from Earth.

The half human frowned, not liking the direction her thoughts had turned to.  She tried to avoid thinking too much of that time, mostly because it was still so hard to process exactly what had happened.

They had lost so many, all on account of the selfishness and pride of one man.  North.  South.  C.T. Florida.  The siblings she’d only begun to start knowing, and…

_York._

Her grip tightened on the guardrail.  The redhead closed her eyes, willing her mind towards less turbulent and not as painful thoughts.

It was probably a mistake to have come to “visit” Black considering that she was, yet again, not even its pilot.  All it did was distract her from what she should be focusing on: keeping Chorus safe so that they could continue the fight that had started even before Freelancer had burned to ash.

…Which meant that Carolina had a mission to prep for.

The former Freelancer was about to pull away and do just that when she was greeted by the resounding beat of footsteps heading towards her on the metal of the catwalk.

“I _thought_ I saw you up here.” Vanessa Kimball said in way of greeting, joining Carolina in looking up at Black’s head that had been designed for some reason to look rather similar to a helmeted face.

The dark-skinned woman belonged to the Elvari, one of the more diplomatic minded of the spacefaring peoples that humanity had encountered as they had foraged out into space.  They very much resembled humans save for being slightly smaller in stature and with pointed ears, their main difference being that most were quite adept at empathy or telepathy.  Often humans gave them the nickname of “elves” as they bore a striking similarity to many characters found in Earth’s fantasy stories.

Chorus had been a predominantly Elvari colony world in the past, though it had ended up becoming a melting port of sorts following a lengthy civil war that had only recently ended thanks to the joint efforts of the planet’s citizenry.

Kimball was now the leader of the new government of Chorus.  She had been the one to finally offer the survivors of Project Freelancer a place to call home.  Carolina, Church, and the others would always be indebted to her and the planet in general for that.

“I just need a moment to myself.” Carolina said in way of explanation.

“So I see.” The Elvari glanced down at the hangar crew on the ground level below that very much resembled insects from their vantage point.  There was a tired resignation in Kimball’s tone and in the slump of her shoulders just then, and Carolina could fathom a guess as to why.

“You were visiting the memorial again.”

Kimball arched an eyebrow in mild amusement, “Was it really that obvious?” She asked.

“Well, you do cut through the hanger to shave time off the trip.” Carolina didn’t stop to think of when exactly she had become aware of that fact.  If Kimball thought it odd that the redhead knew that, she didn’t say.

Instead, the dark-haired woman glanced at Black with a self-deprecating smile on her face as she mused: “I guess we both needed some time to ourselves.”

The memorial was a park created to honor all those who had been killed during the civil war, including Donald Doyle.  He had been the co-leader of Chorus.  Doyle’s sacrifice towards the end of the fighting had made this new peace possible despite Charon’s machinations.

Carolina also knew that, despite some very strong differences in opinion that they’d held over the years, Doyle and Kimball had become very close to one another.

She chose not to say anything about that out loud though, feeling it wasn’t her place to pry and instead mumbled out an “I suppose so.”

For a moment, the two women stood there in amicable silence before Kimball’s mind went to the next task at hand: “You, Washington, Simmons, and Church are going to be joining Doctor Grey at the recovery site soon, correct?”

Carolina nodded, “I was just about to prepare everyone for departure.”

Kimball frowned, sparing a quick glance over at the monstrous machine nearby, “Are you sure it will be all right with just the four of you?” She asked carefully, “Perhaps Tex should—”

There was the familiar lurch in Carolina’s stomach that occurred whenever Tex’s name was brought up.  She quickly fought down the urge to scowl, but the Elvari must have noticed the change in the redhead’s demeanor seeing as how the Chorus leader cut herself off midsentence.    

“It would make more sense to have Tex and Black remain here in Armonia in case Charon starts sniffing around again.” Carolina reminded Kimball, “Besides, from what Doctor Grey’s report says, this should be a fairly routine retrieval mission even if the cargo isn’t.”

“I’m…” The half human trailed off, but when she saw the doubtful look on the other woman’s face she couldn’t help but admit, “I’m not entirely comfortable in Tex’s vicinity.”

Kimball looked curious, as if she wanted to ask a follow-up question.  Carolina’s face flushed slightly in embarrassment at realizing that she admitted something like that out loud, not wanting to divulge anything else at the moment.

“I still need to find Wash and make sure that he and the others are ready.” She added quickly to cover up her slip-up.

Kimball, thankfully, seemed to pick up on how the topic of Tex was still an uncomfortable subject for her.  Instead, the Chorus leader smiled knowingly at the mention of the other Freelancer, telling Carolina conspiratorially: “I have a fairly good idea where he is right now.”

*****

Washington was, yet again, observing training exercises for the new Chorus recruits.  He wasn’t entirely sure how or when it had happened, but he had been volunteered into that capacity around the time that their small knit group of five had found its way to the planet.

He wasn’t really complaining about the situation.  Far from it, actually.  It had provided a distraction.  Not to mention that it took his mind off of everything falling apart in his life: the loss of so many of his teammates and friends, of Steel, of nearly his entire self…

The blond knew it was best not to dwell on that any more than what was necessary.  Based off of personal experience, and for the sake of his own sanity, he was under the impression that it was never really often necessary.

Getting his mind back the matter at hand, Wash took in his surroundings and made tactical mental notes on the recruits and their training progress.  The lieutenants he was currently looking out for were ones who had only enlisted a few months ago.

There were two Arenians in their midst: an alien species that was actually an offshoot of the first humans who had left to colonize space, stranded from their counterparts on Earth until subtle and not-so-subtle cultural and evolutionary changes took place.  The most physically striking being their taller builds and increased strength.

John Elizabeth Andersmith was actually just a few years younger than Washington, but the dark-haired man had enlisted at a later age for reasons he still wanted to keep private.  He was an agreeable sort, though he seemed moved to emotional displays at rather odd intervals.

Antoine Bitters was from another colony world, unlike Andersmith who had been born on Chorus.  He evidently had come to the planet due to not fitting in with his family back home, though his apathetic and often angry attitude made it difficult to connect with his teammates here as well.

Wash had partnered the two Arenians together for this training exercise and, while they were completing it decently enough, he could already see the strains in their dynamic.

The other three lieutenants he had paired together seemed to be doing all right, albeit with the usual unorthodox flair one often just comes to expect from Charles Palomo, a half human and half Veroni native of Chorus.

About the only thing the dark-skinned rookie had in common with Carolina were the aqua glowing lines across his body, seeing as how he was always cheerful and coming up with rather off-the-wall approaches to things.  Sometimes those ideas were executed successfully, but oftentimes they were not.  Thankfully for his fellow lieutenants, this time his strategies seemed to have worked.

Matthews was another native of Chorus, and a friend of Palomo’s from before they had joined the army.  An Elvari, he apparently possessed rather powerful empathic skills, though the auburn-haired young man seemed reluctant to ever attempt using them in an actual combat situation.  Truthfully, Wash was slightly grateful for Matthews’ reluctance as the former Freelancer would need an Elvari soldier to help properly train the young man if that weren’t the case.

Volleyball, a recent transfer from Earth, was the only human of the group.  He didn’t know much about her beyond that the blonde worked well in just about any group situation he put her in.

However, not all of the lieutenants were at this training session.  Wash made a mental note that the missing member was Katie Jensen, a Strassian like himself.  She had asked permission to be removed from this training exercise to help her mentor repair something.  Even Wash couldn’t help but smile slightly at the sight of the brunette and Simmons off to the side of the training area, working on much needed tech maintenance.

It hadn’t been too long ago that the former Freelancer had helped Richard “Dick” Simmons out of a really bad situation.  So, to see the normally anxious wreck of a soldier form a positive, sibling-like bond with another of their people when they needed help was a sight that filled him with an odd sense of contentment.

Maybe he had come to consider Simmons something of a brother himself.  The younger man had definitely needed that type of mentor bond following what had happened to him, the same as Jensen did now from what Wash had gathered about the young girl’s past. 

Carolina would probably just say that mentoring somehow suited him.  Some days he was liable to agree with her.  After all, the adopted “mentor sibling” relationship was something of a common practice in Strassian culture and it wasn’t uncommon for a younger member of their species to look towards an older member for guidance.

“All right, let’s call it a day for now,” he finally remarked at length to all of the training participants, “But we’ll be back to do three hundred laps first thing in the morning.”

There were assorted groans ( _Bitters_ ) and a few cheers ( _Palomo and Andersmith_ ) at the news as the lieutenants dispersed to go about their daily tasks.

“Seems to me like you’re having fun.” A familiar female voice commented from behind him.

Wash turned around, not at all surprised to see the black-clad Tex standing there.  Tex was a Veroni, though her origins were murky at best and thinking too long on them could give someone quite a headache.  As it stood, the intimidating woman had a presence about her that definitely gave most people pause.

She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him with a knowing smirk, the black glowing lines on her face fitting the expression perfectly.  Church had once dared to jokingly call Tex “Goth” during one of their arguments and had literally ended up through a wall.  The woman’s hands up to her elbows were covered with the dark nano-mesh gauntlets that allowed all Veroni the quickest access to technology out of all of the alien races.

Wash sighed, having gotten more or less used to the mech pilot’s comings and goings due to the years they had spent on the run together, “Training isn’t supposed to be fun.”

The blonde shrugged, “It’s always nice to enjoy what you’re doing, Wash.” She stated in a voice that clearly indicated he wasn’t going to get anything past her.

She wasn’t exactly _wrong_ per se, so it wasn’t like he could correct her or anything.  The Strassian sighed, hiding the embarrassed blush that crossed over his face then.  Damn it!  He _wasn’t_ the fresh-faced rookie who got super flustered with teasing anymore.

There was a lull in the conversation as Wash tried to rein in his embarrassment even more before he coughed awkwardly and glanced over to the patiently waiting Tex.

“…I take it you heard about the mission from Church?” He asked her, realizing that was probably the reason she had come to visit her teammate in the first place.

Though their relationship could be described as “complicated,” Church and Tex still shared pretty much everything with one another when it came to missions.  Perhaps it was a reflection of everything they had been through before.

At least, they talked about the missions with each other eventually.  Usually after _a lot_ of arguing and, if Church’s bragging was any indicator of truth, plenty of makeup sex.  That last part in particular Wash really had _no_ desire to learn more about.

Tex tilted her head slightly in affirmation, “Sounds pretty routine to me.”

He couldn’t help but nod his head in agreement.  Even with the tech in question being a previously undiscovered mech without a current pilot, the mission was the same as any reclaimed tech mission ever was.

The only reason it was even their group that was going was due to their personal experiences with said pieces of technology.

“Still,” the woman seemed to be reading Wash’s thoughts, “I’d stay on guard anyways.  You never know when something routine could turn into something more.”

It was sound advice, especially with the potential for Wave Disruptions in the area that could mess up equipment.  Wash was about to thank her for it when suddenly Tex straightened from her more relaxed posture.

“I’ve got to go.  Later.” The Veroni said curtly, efficiently moving out of the area.

He raised a blond eyebrow and was about to question her sudden departure when the reason behind it suddenly came into view: Carolina and Kimball had entered the training field.

The former Freelancer watched as Carolina paused at the sight of Tex there before the blonde made herself scarce.  Kimball was glancing at the redhead quizzically, the Chorus leader obviously not sure if she should mention what had transpired or not.

Even from so far away, Wash could see Carolina relax visibly at Tex’s exit before striding over to Wash as if nothing had been amiss.

“Are you ready to leave soon?” She asked without pleasantries, so Wash knew the former Freelancer was doing head counts before they shipped out.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’ll let Simmons know we’re getting ready to leave soon.”

The half Veroni nodded curtly before turning to leave once more, no doubt searching for where her brother had wandered off to as Kimball followed close by after shooting Wash an amused look.

Wash sighed for a moment before he turned to face where Simmons and Jensen were still knee-deep in whatever mechanical project they had been working on.  He couldn’t even tell _what_ the contraption had been now that they had disassembled it so thoroughly.

“Simmons.” He informed the other man quickly, “We’re preparing to leave.”

“U—understood, sir!” Simmons hastily saluted before turning to Jensen apologetically, “Um…sorry, Jensen, but could you—?”

“Of course, sir!  Leave the clean-up to me!” Jensen smiled as she cut her mentor off while also saluting, blue-tinged freckles shiny in the training space’s light.

Simmons nodded to her gratefully before leaving with Wash.

“Good kid.” The former Freelancer remarked, glancing back at Jensen already hard at work, “They all are.”

“Yeah.” His fellow Strassian soldier nodded while looking lost in thought, and Wash couldn’t help taking a guess as to why that was.

“How has life here on Chorus been for you?” He asked the redhead quietly.

Simmons’ face turned slightly crimson at the focus being placed on him, though he shot the blond a grateful smile all the same, “It’s…it’s been an experience, sir,” he answered truthfully, “A positive one.  I only hope it stays that way.”

After all they’d been through, a quiet and more focused life was definitely something to be cherished.

“Me too.” Wash answered just as truthfully as the two headed towards their destination.

*****

“Isn’t this _spectacular_?” Doctor Emily Grey, Chorus’ resident alien tech expert, said without preamble the second their feet landed on the excavation site, “To find a mech right under our very noses, and to be able to research it _together_!”

“It’s…something, all right.” Carolina, who had always been somewhat off put by the other woman’s eccentric behavior, managed to force out politely enough with a slight smile to match.

“Oh, I just can’t wait to really have a crack at the nuts and bolts of it!” Doctor Grey continued, oblivious to Carolina’s less-than-enthused reaction.  The dark skinned Veroni woman clapped her gauntleted hands together excitedly, a grin splitting her face, “Who wants to check out the _amazing_ specs we already have for it?”

With that, the “mad scientist” was practically tugging both Wash and Carolina over to her nearby work station.  Simmons, being the inquisitive person that he was, was about to join them when his eyes fell on the mech in question.

For the fact that it had only recently been excavated, it looked incredibly as well-maintained as Black did, if not more so since Black had recently seen battle.  It made the Strassian wonder about the durability of the ancient alien tech and materials that went into these machines, especially for them to still be in such pristine condition.

His green eyes spotted color poking through the mud and dirt still covering large portions of the gigantic, humanoid-shaped creation…

“What is that—maroon?”

He started, having forgotten in his own dorky excitement that Leonard Church was still there.  The Veroni was staring at the mech with measured curiosity.

Simmons nodded his head, “I think so.”

“Pretty sure you’d know since it makes up your entire wardrobe for some reason.” Church rolled his eyes at his teammate, “Though “ _Maroon_ ” really doesn’t make for an intimidating name.  Maybe Sis should rethink the color codenames.”

Since Church was clearly in his complaining mode, as always, Simmons ignored him to regard the mech itself some more.

It was in a sitting position in the hole it had been found in, the cockpit in the chest area on land level.  The cockpit was closed, just like how Black’s usually was.  Simmons was oh-so-tempted to reach out and touch the metallic surface…

“I mean, _why_ am I here again?” he distantly heard Church saying as if they weren’t standing near each other, “Tex didn’t have to come and she’s a fucking pilot!”

The Veroni had his back turned to Simmons during his ranting, but the lack of any response from his kiss-ass teammate struck Church as unusual.  When he suddenly turned back to see what it was that his nerd team member was doing that was so important he couldn’t even bother to listen to his bitching, Church found Simmons standing awfully close to the mech with his hand outstretched towards it as if in a trance.

“Hey!  Don’t touch anything, asshole!” He called out to the Strassian, making his way over to him quickly.

The redhead blinked, pulling his hand away, “I—I’m not—!” he began when suddenly the ground violently shook beneath them.

Simmons lurched forward upon losing his balance, hand hitting the hard chest area of the mech in the process.  He could only gawk in horror as the metal dissolved at his touch and he fell face first, landing halfway into the now open cockpit of the mech that was suddenly whirring to life all around him.

“Oh, shit.” He couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, his blue-tinged freckled face bathed in the light from the now active mech’s terminals.

“Hey!  What did I say about not fucking touching anything?” Church demanded, having reached where Simmons was still lying a second later.

“I didn’t mean to!” Simmons muttered weakly in his own defense, though another violent tremor suddenly threw both men fully into the cockpit.

The door solidified into existence once more just as the other three team members had come back to investigate what was going on.  Seeing them on the monitor caused Simmons to panic even more, wondering what exactly was happening.

Tremors on a planet as tectonically stable as Chorus was could only mean…

“Shit.  It’s a Wave Disruption.” Church muttered out loud, practically groaning.

“C—Charon?” Simmons squeaked out, knowing that the human rights group’s own mechs could generate the dimensional fluctuations.

The Veroni closed his eyes for a moment, touching a sensor panel on the mech as his gauntlet glowed, “No, this is a naturally occurring one.” Church stated after a moment, still looking grim, “But it’s still not a good thing for this area.”

Simmons hadn’t even realized in all the stress that he had sat down in the cockpit’s one pilot seat until just then.  When he did, he nearly bolted out of it, “R—right.  So what do we—?”

“ _We_?” Church cut Simmons off with a glance that said he thought the redhead was an idiot, “You’re the fucking pilot, not me.”

“B—but, I can’t!”

“Relax.  Mindless Wave Disruptions are easy.” Church sounded impatient as he talked, “Just let the mech tell you what to do.”

Simmons stared at the dark-haired man incredulously when a control panel to his left instinctively lit up.  He frowned, reaching out to touch it.  Immediately there was a huge pull downwards on their bodies before they were suddenly flying, a patch of sky above them a swirling vortex of light that seemed to be battering the ground just below it.  Simmons recognized it as the airborne view of the mech’s dig site.

Another control panel, to his right this time, lit up and Simmons didn’t hesitate to hit it.

Maroon arched forward, fist crashing into the vortex.  There was an instantaneous rumble throughout the machine’s frame before the Wave Disruption disappeared as if it was never there.

_I—!  We did it!_

Simmons would have spoken out loud just then, but he suddenly felt so tired.  The Strassian felt his heavy hands leaving the control panels as Maroon dipped into a free fall.

His last conscious thought was that he hoped he didn’t throw up as he heard Church yelling something along the lines of “Oh, shit!”

The redhead could just barely make out the Veroni’s gauntleted hands glowing fervently as they reached past him for the flight controls.

*****

The first thing Simmons woke up to was the ceiling of the clinic area that had been set up near the dig site.  He groaned, the bright lights doing nothing to help ease him back to consciousness.  But the holographic star map that suddenly filled the area was something he was _not_ expecting to see.

“ _This_ became active at the same time as the mech did.” Doctor Grey was saying from a few meters away, “Isn’t it exciting?”

“Oh, _tons_.” Church was muttering sarcastically from somewhere nearby.

“So, what does it mean exactly?” Wash asked the question that Simmons’ too loopy brain was having a hard time voicing.

“ _These_ are all of the other mechs that became activated around the time that Maroon did.” Church half-heartedly explained, pointing to flickering points on the colorful star map.

“Which means we have to find them before Charon does.” Carolina succinctly stated, “Along with their respective pilots.”

“Meaning,” Doctor Grey chimed in giddily, clapping her hands, “It’s interstellar road trip time!”

“…Yay.” Church muttered sarcastically.

Carolina glanced away from the star map, noticing for the first time that Simmons had woken up.

“Simmons.” She stated, causing the others to look at him too as his face flushed with embarrassment at the sudden attention pouring his way, “How are you feeling?”

He honestly couldn’t help but speak the question that he had known was last on his mind before his passing out, “D—did I puke or something?  My stomach feels strange and I’m tired,” he frowned, glancing at all of them, “But what happened?”

“Seriously?” Church scoffed annoyingly at the redhead’s question, “Even a cockbite like you should remember something as big as becoming a mech pilot.”

“W—what?” Simmons groaned, his head hurting as images of falling into the cockpit filled his mind.  Memories of flying and falling…

Oh.  There went his stomach again.

“Give it time.” Carolina advised, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder for a split second.

He breathed in and out before glancing at the assembled group nervously, “Uh, the thing about the road trip?” Simmons began, “That’s true?”

Wash nodded, gray eyes and face somber, “Given your new mech pilot status, we’ll likely need your assistance on this one.”

“Under—understood, sir!” Simmons still had trouble believing _he_ of all people was a pilot now, especially considering his only comparison was Tex and she was fucking incredible as one, but his constant desire to please had him agreeing before he could second guess himself.

The Strassian glanced at the map, green eyes making note of the several different blinking locations where the new mechs were located.  Hopefully, their pilots would be at those locations as well.

“I wonder what the other pilots will be like.” Simmons mused out loud.

“Who knows?” Church shrugged in response, “Knowing our luck though?  They’ll probably all turn out to be assholes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my third ongoing fic. It is also my last one until I finish one of them, I swear! _Shiny Things_ was inspired by watching way too much of mecha series like _Voltron: Legendary Defender_ and _Gundam_ , along with playing far too much _Mass Effect_. So, it is basically a Mecha/Sci-Fi Alternate Universe (because I can apparently only think of really bizarre AU concepts, haha!). This fic might have more of a sporadic update schedule than either _Remnants_ or _When We Were Soldiers_ , but please bear with me for what will hopefully be a really interesting and entertaining ride!
> 
>  _Shiny Things_ is an ongoing story, but I will be segmenting it in to story arcs. This first arc is called “Noobs Rush In” (you win some cool points if you know where I am getting these titles from!) and it is basically serving as the introductory/Prologue arc. Each different arc will get their own titles and, while they will have their own story/conclusion, they’re still part of the bigger overall narrative and meant to be read in the order they’re uploaded in.
> 
> I will be going into the different alien species that humanity has encountered as the story continues and what their physical descriptions, cultures, and species-specific traits are. But, feel free to ask any questions about them if you have any! I will do my best to answer them or any other universe-related questions you have for this story! If people are interested, I could even do a character/alien species guide in a future chapter so that you know who is what.
> 
> Pairings are Grimmons (naturally), as well as all of the others listed in the tags! Yorkalina and Doyle x Kimball are also featured in _Shiny Things_. However, both York (along with most of the other Freelancers, sadly) and Doyle are unfortunately already deceased during the present timeline of the story, so we will only be seeing those two pairings in flashbacks and through mentions.
> 
> At any rate, I hope this first chapter of this very experimental little fic of mine wasn’t too hard to follow and didn’t scare too many people off. I think this will be a fun and weird story to write out, and I hope that you will enjoy it! Thank you for taking the time to read this first chapter. :D


	2. Noobs Rush In (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The latest memory that Dexter Grif had of their small-as-all-fuck apartment was of his little sister giving him the middle finger and sticking her tongue out at him.

“Goddamn it, Kai!” He called out through the heavy metal door that had just slammed closed in his face, “You’d better not do anything to embarrass the family again!”

But the loud music that played promptly showcased just how much consideration the tan skinned girl was giving to his words.  Grif sighed.  _Fucking perfect._   It looked like it would take a miracle to keep a noise disturbance from being reported by one of their asshole neighbors again.

It said a _lot_ that Kaikaina Grif could get noise disturbance complaints in Rat’s Nest of all places, especially since the place was comprised of nothing _but_ noise day in and day out.

“What’s wrong, Grif?” One of their jerkier neighbors, as if on cue, cut out of a nearby conversation with a friend just to bask in the older Grif sibling’s plight, “Still can’t control that sister of yours?”

Grif copied the gesture his sister had so eloquently given him moments before with his own finger, causing the two pricks to burst out laughing.

He glared but turned away briskly, figuring prolonging the encounter any was sure to get nasty.  Not only did he not have the energy for that, but really?  The chubby man was practical-minded too and had found that being apathetic served him well.

After all, one didn’t grow up in a place like Rat’s Nest having to provide for both yourself _and_ your younger sibling after your parents ditched you for greener pastures without learning a few survival skills.  So, with that in mind, he left the all-too-crowded residential district in a huff.

Rat’s Nest was like a lot of other primarily human Outer Colonies in that it was governed largely by its own set of rules.  Staying abreast of which gangs had control of which territory, as well as keeping your head out of trouble with everyone, were the keys to having a long life here.

Grif hated it, just as he had hated having to raise a little girl here too.  But the “rough and tumble” lifestyle here on Rat’s Nest was the only one he had ever known.  It wasn’t like he’d ever have enough money to get either Kai or himself off-world with all of the debts that his parents had left for him to pay off.

The dark-haired man didn’t have the energy to stifle the inner sigh at the reminder of where most of the money he ever managed to scrap up went.

“So, I hear that military group set up camp right in front of the mech.” An old man whispered loudly to his hard-of-hearing companion as Grif walked by where the two were out loitering.

Even though the two strangers’ conversation had nothing to do with him, Grif couldn’t help but stop when he overheard their gossip.  To the right parties, rumors were sometimes just as useful as cash here in Rat’s Nest.

Truth be told, he was also curious.  Grif had seen the military group the old man had mentioned from afar the other day when their transport had landed in the docking area of the colony.

He hadn’t meant to pay them more than a second of attention.  They were simply newfound oddities since military presences of any type were normally nonexistent in Rat’s Nest.

However, one of the military group’s members had bright red hair.  When Grif saw it, he had been momentarily entranced by the color shining in the light since it was such a rare one here.

So, naturally his curiosity was slightly piqued by the old colonist’s statement just then.  Not that he would let anyone know it since Grif kept up his lazy outward appearance even as he leaned in closer to overhear more of the conversation.  He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Still, what the old man had mentioned about the group made sense.  What other reason would they have to be at Rat’s Nest other than the recently activated mech on the outskirts of the colony?  Why else would any military outfit beyond possibly those annoying Charon recruiters come to a colony like this?

But…

“They’re in for a world of hurt if they think they can just claim the damn thing when that whole territory’s in dispute.” The old man’s friend was currently saying.

“Especially since they’re all aliens.” The old man agreed, spitting off to the side for good measure, “They’re going to get attention from all sides.”

_That_ was for damn sure.  None of the attention they’d get would be of the good variety either.  Grif frowned, wondering just how much the outsiders even knew about the place where they had inadvertently stepped foot in.

Honestly, Grif had even seen the mech from afar a few times.  It was an awe-inducing sight.  That was for sure.

But he would never walk into the middle of a gang dispute to get a better look at it, even if someone was willing to pay him to do so.  He might be a broke fat-ass, but he wasn’t a stupid one.

Practical survival skills and all that shit.  His stomach rumbled just then, and Grif frowned—remembering that he hadn’t eaten his third lunch before leaving the house in a huff thanks to his far-too-exuberant-for-her-own-good sister.

Grif pushed thoughts of red hair and giant orange robots from his mind with a shake of his head.

Right now, he had to worry about finding something to eat and figuring out what odd jobs he could do to get paid.  What happened to a group of ignorant outsiders wasn’t top on his list of concerns.

When he thought of it that way, he almost nearly fucking believed it too.

*****

“Wash’s group made it safely to Rat’s Nest as well.” Vanessa Kimball informed her through their comm-channel link.

Carolina nodded, glad to see that even as far away from the planet of Chorus as they currently were, the picture on the monitor was as clear as day.  It meant that all of the upgrades to the communication networks that their group had helped with were not in vain.

Also, it helped calm her nerves in a way to know that Chorus, that _Kimball_ , was only a hale away no matter the distance.

Kimball frowned for a moment, reading something from a datapad in front of her, “Though I have heard that Rat’s Nest is a predominantly human colony.” She glanced at Carolina seriously, “Should we be worried that Charon will have a larger-than-normal presence there?”

It was no secret that Charon would often have cells in in the areas of the Outer Colonies where the majority of residents were human.  It made sense because of the lack of the Central Earth Government’s prying eyes in those regions.  Charon knew how to make use of a strategical advantage when they could, and they always managed to utilize all of the tactical loopholes they could find.

Carolina shook her head at the dark skinned woman’s inquiry, “While it’s likely, I trust that Wash and Simmons won’t take any unnecessary risks when it comes to the safety of their team.”

“They do have Maroon with them should something happen.” Kimball noted, though that comment left her frowning slightly at the former Freelancer, “It still feels wrong to have your team out there without a mech presence.”

Carolina sighed inwardly.  The redhead had a gnawing suspicion that she knew where this conversation was headed.

“I could still have Tex catch up with you in no time.” The Elvari woman offered when the cyan-armored woman failed to respond.

Carolina shook her head.  Her own stubborn pride aside, she had no doubt that Tex and Black would be a boon out in the field should something go awry.  But there were several reasons both herself and the mech pilot had opted for Tex to remain planet-side this time.

“It’s best to have Black remain on Chorus in case Charon makes a move there.” She finally settled on the largest one, as she knew that Kimball appreciated sound strategy.  Before Kimball could still protest, Carolina smirked, “Besides, I think we will have everything covered here.”

A mech pilot she might not be, but Carolina could definitely hold her own in a battle.  Besides, she also had every confidence in her team.

For a moment, Kimball looked as though she wanted to argue over the matter more.  But, ultimately, she decided against it, probably due to the determined glint in the half human’s green eyes.

“All right.” The Chorus leader reluctantly agreed, nodding her head slightly, “Keep me posted.”

“Of course.” Carolina nodded her head as the comm-channel turned off, the monitor becoming a black screen that reflected her cyan-lined face back at her.

Carolina turned and exited the meeting room of the transport, not at all surprised to see her brother waiting for her in the corridor with arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his goateed face.

“Already done chatting up your girlfriend, sis?” Leonard Church joked.

Carolina rolled her eyes at the joke that he always seemed to think was so horribly amusing, “We aren’t dating, Church.”

“ _Yet_.” Church began matching her strides with visible effort as she made her way to the open hatch of the grounded ship, “But it’s coming.”

“Really?  You know this from your vast romantic experience?” The redhead couldn’t help teasing him right back, “Are you and Tex back together this week?”

“Naturally.” Church was beaming.

She rolled her eyes again.  Following the two’s off-and-on-and-off-and-on again relationship was beyond exhausting sometimes.

“Seriously though, Carolina,” Church’s tone was a more serious one just then, “It might do you some good to actually think about the possibility.”

Carolina stopped walking, a frown settling over her features.

“Just promise me you won’t knock it out of your thoughts completely yet, okay?” The dark-haired man started before she could begin protesting, “You of all people deserve some happiness.”

Knowing that his pushiness was coming from a place of familial concern allowed Carolina to give him a slight nod, though she did not promise anything.  After all, right now there was still a mission left to complete.

The open hatch’s ramp led down to pristine farmland as far as the eye could see.  Carolina stopped and stared in awe at it for a few seconds.  The data they had collected on Blood Gulch had definitely been accurate in saying that it was more of a rural colony.

Chorus’ farms were still being restored, and it had been awhile since she had seen any farmlands in a peaceful setting.  Her more recent memories of agricultural areas had simply been as backdrops for fighting.

“Everyone’s ready to go now.” Church informed her.

Carolina tilted her green-eyed glance towards the rest of the crew for this mission, all of whom were already doing last minute gear checks.  Their silver uniformed pilot was sitting on the ramp observing them, though she glanced up with a friendly nod of her head when Carolina and Church strode past her.

“The ship will be ready for takeoff when you guys get back.” Four Seven Niner assured her, “Though I must admit that I’m a little shocked there were _two_ mech signals in an area like this.”

“But the star map should be really accurate, right?” Volleyball looked up from her inventory list just then, blond hair pushed back in a ponytail.

“Near as we can gather.” Church replied as the Veroni had even examined said map close to a hundred times along with Doctor Grey just to make sure.

“It will definitely be a treat to see them up close and personal!” Doctor Grey chimed in, evidently happy to be a part of this mission as well.

“It already feels like the epic start of one huge interstellar adventure, though I kind of wish I were with Jensen’s group instead.” Palomo added cheerfully as he slung his gear pack over his shoulders.

Church couldn’t help but groan at their comrades’ enthusiasm, rolling his eyes, “I just hope all of this will be worth it.” He muttered as he and Carolina set foot on the surface of the planet.

“If we find those two mechs it will be.” Carolina assured him.

“Did you happen to mention mechs just now?” A friendly, unknown voice queried just a few meters away from the ship.

They all turned to see an Elvari male with dirty blond hair standing nearby, his farming clothes a surprising hue of pink.  He smiled and waved at them as if a ship landing in the middle of Blood Gulch’s farmland was not at all out of the ordinary.

“Hey, you guys!” He said cheerily in way of greeting, “My name’s Franklin Delano Donut!  If it’s mechs you’re looking for, then you’ve just _got_ to meet Sarge!”

*****

The mech that had been activated at Rat’s Nest was _huge_.  It was even wider than Black and Maroon, making Richard “Dick” Simmons’ newly acquired mech seem downright lanky in comparison.  It seemed as if the robotic creation had been built with strength in mind.  Given the mech’s build, there was no doubt it had been used for heavy lifting and the like in the ancient past.

Standing below it, with the whole of its gigantic frame towering overhead, the redhead couldn’t help but feel the usual sense of awe that he always seemed to feel in the presence of these weapons.  Simmons had yet to lose that habit, despite having remained with the remnants of Freelancer for some time before they had come to Chorus and even despite recently becoming a pilot himself.

If their group wasn’t currently on a mission, the Strassian would have stood in awe at the mech and wondered once more about all of the _whys_ behind this unique piece of technology for hours on end.

Tearing his gaze away from the orange frame, he caught sight of the flash of binoculars out in the distance.

A group of rough-looking humans had gathered several meters away on the outskirts of the colony, clearly interested in what they were doing.  Even from this far away, none of them looked too friendly.

He glanced over at Washington, who was also staring at the Rat’s Nest residents with a growing frown on his face.  The blond had probably noticed them well before Simmons had.

Given the less-than-hospitable reactions of the colony residents to their presence here, Simmons could at once both understand Wash’s decision to dock the transport and Maroon with Andersmith keeping watch over them and waiting for the group’s return at the landing point further away, as well as feel a bit of trepidation over the decision all the same.

Right now, while scouting the area around the mech as they were, their unit’s members were little more than sitting ducks.  Still, the truth was that the transport plus another mech would have drawn even more unwanted attention their way.

Either way, he knew it hadn’t been an easy tactical decision for the former Freelancer to have made.

“Stay on guard, everyone.” Washington advised, as he turned to look at the readouts that their scanning devices were starting to produce on the orange mech’s specifications as the light illuminated the blue-tinged freckles on his face.

Jensen and Matthews both nodded their heads at the Strassian’s order.  Bitters’ only acknowledgement of the older man’s remark was to give a dark-eyed glance over at the gathering group of humans disinterestedly.  Simmons gulped slightly, pressing a few touch controls on the scanner he was working with to switch readouts.

His mentor caught the nervous look in his eyes.  Wash smiled slightly before doing the same as the redhead with his own instrument.  The unspoken message to not let his nerves get the better of him again was loud and clear to Simmons all the same.

They were, after all, the two senior members of the expedition.  He had to act like one.  Simmons sighed, listening in slightly as the lieutenants started talking quietly amongst themselves.

“I—I wonder what the pilot will be like.” Matthews remarked, the Elvari looking over at the mech in awe.

“Hopefully he’s just as cool as Captain Simmons and Tex are!” Jensen responded brightly.

Simmons felt his face heat up at the praise, though he couldn’t help but wonder at just what Jensen’s definition of “cool” was if it put him on any standing with _Tex_ of all people.

Truthfully, he was still trying to wrap his head around being a mentor to the young Strassian himself, let alone a mech pilot along with Tex.  It still seemed like so much of what had happened since they had arrived on Chorus was a dream.  One that he still didn’t quite believe was real no matter how much time had passed.

It was definitely very different from whatever life he had pictured for himself growing up had been.  Definitely different in a _good way_ , mind you!  But, it was still hard to wrap his head around all the same.

Bitters scoffed at the commentary from his two slightly younger teammates, “So long as they aren’t a giant asshole, I’m fine with whatever.” The Arenian told them.

A thought occurred to Simmons then as he overheard their conversation and he turned to regard Wash quizzically, “How exactly _are_ we going to find the pilot?”

So far, no one had come forward to claim ownership of the mech or shown pilot potential.  Rat’s Nest might be located in a remote part of the Outer Colonies, but it was still a densely populated area consisting of a human majority.

The colony was almost suffocating-ly populated in the redhead’s mind with so many crowded buildings and a ton of industrial equipment just lying haphazardly around.  Honestly, Simmons had breathed a bit easier once they were out of the immediate populated area.

Matthews had as well, now that he thought about it.  No doubt the younger man’s empathic abilities had been greatly overwhelmed earlier.  For a minute there, even the usually apathetic Bitters had seemed a bit concerned for the auburn-haired Elvari.

They had discovered that the most likely pilot candidates would be those within the area that the mechs get activated in.  So, the truth was that the orange mech’s pilot could be literally _anyone_ at Rat’s Nest.  If there wasn’t a way to speed up the process of figuring out who it was, they were in for a very long haul.

Simmons wasn’t sure they wanted to stay here any longer than was necessary, especially given the reactions of the residents to there being six military-uniformed aliens in their midst.  Not that he couldn’t understand their suspicion seeing as how the group from Chorus was snooping around a potentially lucrative piece of technology.

Not to mention that the longer the group from Chorus stayed here, the more likely it was that Charon would figure out what they were up to as well.

Washington frowned, glancing up at the towering giant of metal and circuitry, “As difficult as it may be, we just have to be patient.” He told him at length, “Given Doctor Grey’s research, I think we’re correct in suspecting that the mech will choose someone from this area.”

Which then meant that they would have to convince a Rat’s Nest native to come with them to Chorus for training, which was probably an easier task said than done.

Simmons sighed again at the prospect, trying to think of something else to say, when suddenly all hell broke loose.

They were attacked without warning from the opposite end of the area than were Simmons had caught sight of the people before.  It stood to reason that the earlier group had most likely been a decoy ruse.

The attackers were swarming over the rocky terrain, trying to surround their group and cut them off from any escape.  Wash reacted quickly, slamming a fist into the throat of a man on a bike and knocking him to the ground before deftly opening fire and causing the attackers to keep their distance under a hail of bullets.

Bitters grabbed Matthews’ arm and pulled him to the cover provided by the mech’s feet, the two promptly helping Wash by supplying cover fire from this new vantage point.  A human male dove off of one of their high-speed bikes, arms outstretched right for Jensen as Simmons pushed the brunette into the cover of the feet along with her two teammates.

She responded in kind by shooting the man before he could go for Simmons instead.  Simmons fired his own gun, managing to keep a few of the attackers at bay.  He glanced over at Wash, nearly surrounded and only not so due to the lieutenants’ supporting fire and his own warning shots.

The redhead frowned, inwardly debating whether he should move closer to his mentor or if providing cover from the orange mech’s feet as well would be his best bet.  Damn him and his panicking under pressure!

That was when Simmons heard what could only be described as a _roar_ directly behind him.  The pale skinned man spun around only for the hot, blinding white light of a shock stick to be jammed into his stomach.

There was a flash of what seemed like lightning across his eyes and then sharp, searing pain all over his body.  Then there was only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger because I am evil like that. XD Next up will be the introductions to Sarge and Lopez, as well as the first actual meeting between Grif and Simmons in this story-verse! I am definitely looking forward to writing out the next chapter, but I had a ton of fun with this one. :) As always, thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I figured it would be a good idea to write a Story Guide featuring all of the alien species featured in Shiny Things, as well as a list of who some of the more important characters are for each. The guide below is pretty brief and the story itself will go into more details on all of the different alien species as the plot progresses, but hopefully they will be informative and helpful all the same!
> 
> Also, though it is still a bit off still, I will probably be writing a guide for the mechs and who their respective pilots are as well once this beginning portion of the story is closer to completion. :)
> 
> Yin's Guide to the Alien Species of _Shiny Things_ :
> 
> _Humans_ \-- > Originally hailing from planet Earth, humans have since spread out across the Galaxy. They are highly adaptable to new surroundings and environments. One of the more populous alien species, there is a portion of the human race that is highly xenophobic regarding the other alien species humanity has since encountered in their travels through space.
> 
> _Notable Humans_ \-- > Grif, Kai, Volleyball, Felix, Locus, Malcolm Hargrove, Allison, York, C.T., Insurrection Leader, Florida, Wyoming, Bones, Junior (one third Strassian)
> 
> _Arenians_ \-- > The first alien species humanity encountered during their travels through space. In reality, Arenians are actually an off-shoot of humanity. They evolved from the first human settlers of space well before more concentrated and quicker efforts for colonization were developed through the use of arc ships that carried large portions of humanity through the stars while in cold sleep. Arenians developed their own customs and culture in order to survive on different planets, and they are notably stronger and taller than most humans.
> 
> _Notable Arenians_ \-- > Sarge, Caboose, Andersmith, Bitters, Maine/Meta, Sharkface (half human), Four Seven Niner
> 
> _Veroni_ \-- > An alien species that relies heavily on technology. They are bonded with Nanites upon birth, which not only gives them distinctive glowing “ _Tron_ ” lines on their bodies but also allows them to control/"merge" with various technology networks on a far deeper level than just simply accessing them manually. They are somewhat similar to _Mass Effect_ 's Quarians.
> 
> _Notable Veroni_ \-- > Church, Carolina (half human), Tex, Grey, Sheila, FILSS, Palomo (half human), the Director
> 
> _Strassians_ \-- > An alien species often considered very "exotic" by outsiders, they are recognizable by the blue-tinged freckles all over their bodies. They have three stages to their lives: the beginning stage where they are a third gender (neither male or female), an evolutionary "middle" stage where their bodies begin to present as male or female thanks to interacting with outside species or older Strassians, and a "reproductive" stage where their bodies (regardless of presented gender) are capable of having offspring. Strassians exude pheromones in the second stage in particular that have addictive properties to other species (most notably humans), and have to take suppressants to keep that at bay. They are, in some regards, very similar to _Mass Effect_ 's Asari.
> 
> _Notable Strassians_ \-- > Simmons, Washington, Jensen, Tucker (half human)
> 
> _Elvari_ \-- > A species of alien noted for their smaller stature and pointed ears, often called "elves" by humans. They are the second most numerous species of aliens in the Galaxy, and are often extremely gifted empaths and telepaths. They can also minimally alter how they look physically depending on the feelings of those around them as a means of comfort and self-defense. Somewhat similar to _Voltron: Legendary Defender_ ’s Alteans.
> 
> _Notable Elvari_ \-- > Donut, Doc, Kimball, Matthews, Aiden Price (half human), Doyle, North, South


	3. Noobs Rush In (Part Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The land of Blood Gulch turned from pristine farmland to the remains of a battlefield so seamlessly that Leonard Church had to blink his eyes slightly at just how quickly the transformation snuck up on them.

“Oh yeah,” their guide, Donut, said upon noticing all of the shocked faces of the Chrous group, “Blood Gulch was the site of a pretty large land dispute awhile back.  The fighting stopped around the time when I was born, but there are still reminders of it all over the planet.”

“Huh.  You don’t say.” Distantly, Church wondered if this was how Chorus would look one day.

At the moment, the planet they were living at was still mostly scarred ground.  Maybe eventually only pockets of that would remain on Chorus too.

“You didn’t read up on that part of the planet’s history, Church?” Grey inquired, though her voice was more curious than really chastising.

After all, the doctor knew that not only had he been thoroughly fixated on the star map itself to check for accuracy before they left, but that he had also been with Tex the night before they’d left as well.

Church’s face flushed slightly at that particular thread of memory, but he managed to cover things up with his usual aplomb, “O—of course, I did, Doctor Grey!  It’s just different seeing it in person, is all.”

“Well, that is true!” The dark skinned woman nodded her head in understanding while mercifully changing the subject at the same time, “There are buildings built right on top of the battlefield here.”

Following the point of her finger, Church saw that what Doctor Grey said was indeed true.  The remains of the battlefield were scorched and scarred earth that began jarringly right where the farmland ended.  There were husks of old weapons and vehicles lying around along with crumbling ruins of decimated buildings.

But there were a handful of recently constructed buildings out in the center of the grounds.  All of those were in good repair, and each had a slight electrical hum running through them that told Church’s Veroni senses that there was power throughout the oddly located structures.

What really caught the dark haired man’s attention right next to said buildings though were the crouched over forms of _two_ mechs.

“This whole area is where Sarge lives.” Donut explained, “He was a soldier during the fighting and just never left, even after everyone else did.  That’s his mech,” he then nodded his dirty blond head towards the larger of the two mechs which was a brightly gleaming red color, “The Warthog.  But, both get parked here.”

Donut was talking so casually about the giant robots out in the middle of his now peaceful colony that Church had to wonder how long they had been there even before becoming active again.  Judging by how pristine both machines looked, he could guess it was quite a while.

“Is that second one,” Palomo was squinting to get a better view, “Pink?”

“Nothing wrong with a good color like that, Palomo.” Volleyball told him playfully, glancing at the pink trim of her armor.

“Exactly!” Donut nodded his head in agreement with the blonde, “Though I believe in this case the correct shade is _lightish-red_.”

“Why is the big one called the Warthog?” Church mused instead of commenting on Donut’s odd remark about what was obviously an extremely pink robot.

If Carolina had her way, the mech would be called “Red” to match Black and Maroon, which at least sort-of made sense given its coloring.  The Veroni failed to see what about the humanoid-shaped robot resembled the wild animal from Earth.

“Because it is intimidating and stout, just like a warthog!” A new, gruff voice exclaimed from close by, “Obviously.”

They turned as one group to find an older man standing behind them garbed in red clothing that resembled a similar shade to the Warthog.  Given the man’s larger stature, it was obvious he was an Arenian.  There was also a brown-armored figure looking on at the group disinterestedly from behind him.

“Hey, Sarge!” Donut waved in greeting to the older man before walking over to him, “I brought some people who were interested in your mech!”

Sarge did not seem at all impressed, glancing over at the group as disinterestedly as his silent companion appeared to be currently doing to the ground, “Hmph.  So, you’re the folks who came on that transport ship a little while ago?” he finally asked them.

“That’s right.” Carolina nodded her head in confirmation, “We’re from the planet Chorus and—“

“I don’t really need to hear your life’s story.” He cut her off, “You’re here for the mechs and their pilots, right?”

The redhead nodded once more, green eyes narrowed as if trying to get a good read on the situation.

“I take it the reason you’re interested in these here mechs is because you’re in a battle with someone.  Maybe even those Charon SOBs that stir up trouble here from time to time?”

Church exchanged looks at the others in their group just then, though they unhelpfully shrugged back at him.  No one seemed to have realized that Charon could have been extending their influence to even middle of nowhere places like Blood Gulch here.

“That’s actually a fairly accurate assessment.” His sister noted, genuinely surprised.

Church was somewhat impressed.  Very few things or people caught Carolina off-guard anymore.

Sarge huffed, “Totally hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?” He stated proudly, nodding to himself, “In which case, sign us up!  Right, Lopez?”

“Como si realmente me daría una opción, usted viejo loco.”  _{“As if you’d really give me a choice, you crazy old man.”}_

From the electronic Spanish coming from the brown-armored individual Sarge had just referred to as Lopez, it was obvious he was a robot.

Donut confirmed this a second later when he conspiratorially whispered to their group, “Oh, yeah!  Sarge built Lopez about a year or so ago to help out around here.  He’s like his son!”

“Por favor, no repita eso. Nunca.”  _{“Please don’t repeat that.  Ever.”}_

Putting the mysteries behind a fully functional human-sized robot aside, though Church could see Doctor Grey’s dark eyes maniacally light up at the prospect of talking more on that particular subject later, Sarge’s blatant commentary was a little hard to fully process just then.

Church and Carolina both looked at each other as if trying to get a read on what they were each making of this encounter before turning back to the Arenian.

“Really?” Church asked Sarge, tone disbelieving, “You’d be willing to go with us just like that?”

Truthfully, when all was said and done, he had expected _some_ kind of convincing to happen on their end.  After all, what sane person wants to just jump blindly into a war?

“Well,” Sarge looked them over carefully just then, “Most of you _are_ wearing a shade of dirty blue so I suppose I should be cautious.”

“Come again?” Church couldn’t help but ask.

“Sarge has some personal trust issues against the color blue.” Donut stated matter-of-factly, as if that made perfect sense anywhere in the universe.

“But you’ve made friends with Donut and one of you at least has the common sense to wear a shade of red.” Sarge nodded his head in Volleyball’s direction approvingly, “So I figure you can’t all be bad.”

“Gee, thanks.” Church couldn’t help but mutter sarcastically.

“Besides, I’m sick of being stuck on this planet when the fighting’s been over with for a while now.  I long to be in the thick of battle once more.” The red-wearing man chuckled to himself, “If you folks can promise me that, I’ll gladly go with you all.”

“Fighting definitely won’t be a problem.” Carolina assured him, “You’re right in assuming that we aren’t on friendly terms with Charon.”

“All the better!” Sarge seemed pleased as punch by this turn of events, “Those numb nuts really make my blood boil!”

“Okay, so one mech and one pilot down.” Church mentally ticked it off in his head, “That was easier than I thought.” Frowning, he then glanced over at the second mech that was slightly smaller in stature than the Warthog, “Any idea who the pilot of Pink here is?”

Sarge looked in surprise at Donut then, “You mean you didn’t tell them?” He asked.

“Tell us what?”

No sooner had the question left his mouth than Church figured out exactly what Sarge was referring to.  In hindsight, Donut’s clothing color choice should have made it obvious.

The Elvari’s face flushed as he rubbed the back of his head, “Did I forget to mention that I was the pilot of a mech too?” Donut asked sheepishly, “Sorry about that!  Sometimes I just lose head when things get intense!”

Odd word choice aside, this was an incredible find!  Church could scarcely believe it.

“You can bet I’m willing to help you guys out too since Sarge and Lopez are!” Donut said cheerfully before adding a bit more hesitantly a second later, “I…just have to tell my family first.”

“¿Tú lo haces?”  _{“You do?”}_

Both Sarge and Lopez exchanged a glance with one another, the older man seeming surprised by the dirty blond’s remark but ultimately choosing not to comment on it.  With assurances that he would come right back “ _lickety-split_ ,” Donut went back the way their group had come to go talk to his family at one of the farms they had passed.

Carolina looked around the area as the others started doing their own things now that business around here was apparently settled for the most part, “You wouldn’t happen to have a communicator around, would you?” She asked Sarge, “I need to get into contact with our people.”

Sarge turned to the red mech, touching the chest area.  It immediately dissolved to show the cockpit, “You can use the one in the Warthog, if you’d like.”

She nodded her head in thanks and stepped inside along with her brother and Sarge, striding over to the control panel that she must have recognized as a communicator from her own personal experiences with mechs.  Her first message was naturally to Four Seven Niner.

It was so standard in the typical variety kind of way that Church didn’t even bother to pay much attention to it.  Basically, Carolina told the pilot that not only had they had found both the mechs and their respective pilots, but that they would be back to the transport to move on to the next location soon.  The redhead’s friend confirmed this with just a small quip on how quick that was before ending their dialogue.

Carolina’s next communication was one that Church paid a bit more attention to as she was channeling Wash.  He was curious about whether or not the other group had had the same luck they had just experienced.  If they weren’t, he kind of wanted to rub their good fortune in their faces.  Just a little bit, at least.

When Washington finally answered and appeared on the screen, the former Freelancer looked a bit haggard, “He—hey, Carolina.  What’s up?”

Carolina and Church both glanced at each other, but his sister took the whole thing in stride.  The half-Veroni easily dominated the conversation.

“We found our first two mechs and pilots.  We’re heading to our next location soon.” She stated, “How’s your progress?”

Wash started with a “ _Not bad—_ “ only to get interrupted as something that sounded distinctly like a fire extinguisher went off in the nearby distance.

_“Good news, sir!”_ Matthews’ voice sounded from somewhere off-screen, _“The fire’s out!”_

“…We found our first mech, still looking for the pilot.” Wash finished.

“Keep us posted.  Take care.” Carolina glanced at Church again, reaching out to end the transmission.

“You too, boss.”

That was that.  Silence loomed in the cockpit as the two siblings and Sarge processed what they had just heard and saw.

“They’re having issues.” Church finally said.

Carolina nodded, “Most definitely.” She was quick to add, “But I trust Wash to get his team through them.”

Church sighed and shook his head, “Fucking Red Team problems.” He muttered under his breath, since most of the team that went to Rat’s Nest wore some shade of red.

Sarge harrumphed, “Well, if you ask me, those beat Blue Team problems any day of the week.”

Church couldn’t help sighing again, hoping that whoever they found as the mech pilot on the moon colony they were visiting next wouldn’t be half as annoying.

*****

David Washington let out a deep breath of relief as soon as the comm-channel dispersed.  Truthfully, he was _still_ a bit unsure of how they had managed to get the unpiloted mech back to the hangar and relative safety of their transport.

He had evidently been better at holding off their attackers at the site than he had thought.  Not to mention the fact that somehow _Jensen_ had gotten ahold of an industrial construction mover.  Honestly, the blond supposed the whole thing could be chalked up to being to one giant miracle in a lot of respects.

After all, _no one_ who was sane was going to bother them with Jensen of all people behind the wheel.  The brunette had somehow even managed to avoid crashing until _after_ they had gotten back to Andersmith and the transport.

Plus, according to Matthews, the one major fire that crash had resulted in had evidently been put out during his conversation with Carolina too.  Truth be told, it had all been better results than the Strassian had expected given what had gone wrong previously.

“You didn’t tell them about what happened to Captain Simmons.” Bitters stated from behind Wash, his head slightly turned as he watched the three other lieutenants making sure the fire was truly put out since it would not do to have an inferno suddenly come to life _inside_ their transport.

Of course, _that_ was the one thing that had gone spectacularly wrong recently.  Wash sighed, blaming himself for having not seen the surprise attack coming.  Because of that error in judgement, Simmons had been taken and…

The gray eyed man shook his head, deciding to try to focus on what they could do in the here and now rather than on worst case scenarios.

“Carolina is pretty sharp.  I’m betting she already knows something is going on.” Washington informed Bitters, “Besides, there will be plenty of time to go into what exactly happened in a report _after_ we both get Simmons back and find Orange’s pilot.”

He did not say _“if”_ they got him back, and Bitters did not comment on the definitive declaration for a long while.  No doubt he and the other rookies wanted to believe it to be a possibility too, though moments later Bitters couldn’t help but ask, “Yeah, but what are the odds of that happening now when we have two mechs and no pilots?”

Wash sighed, “All we can do at this point is try, Lieutenant Bitters.”

Bitters said nothing in response, and Wash turned then to stare at the two motionless mechs on the transport.  The former Freelancer found himself missing Steel even more than usual given their current situation.

All Washington could do at the moment was just hope that Simmons was all right currently, wherever the other Strassian was.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons woke up by being greeted with a flash of pain all over his body.  Still, as much as it hurt, the painful jolt helped to force him fully awake.

The redhead tried leaping up, remembering exactly what had been going on before the shock stick had made contact with his stomach, only to discover that he was unable to rise fully from where he was currently lying.

To his growing horror, Simmons realized that was because his foot was tethered to the cot that he had been placed on to the side of a large, warehouse-like space filled with all sorts of different derelict construction equipment, crates, and weaponry.

The pale skinned man’s clothes were gone too.  The Strassian was only in his boxers, blue-tinged freckles all over his body visible for the whole world to see.  He tried closing his eyes, taking in deep breaths to keep the overwhelming sense of panic from getting to him.

_Not like last time, not like last time…_

Eventually, shakily, Simmons was able to squeeze his green eyes open and look around the expansive building.  The logical part of his brain informing him that doing so would be helpful.  If nothing else, he found that it helped offset some of his panic.

In the middle of the derelict warehouse was a table with a bunch of humans sitting around it.  They were cleaning their weapons and drinking, talking in loud voices.  Despite not being nearby, Simmons could hear them thanks to their volume.

“It just sucks that we lost the mech for now.” One of the humans was saying, “Who knew they could grab a mover so fast?”

So, they _hadn’t_ gotten ahold of Orange then.  Simmons relaxed slightly, grateful for the information.

“Yeah, but we know they took it to Hangar B.  We’ll have our chance to reclaim it soon enough.” Another said rather confidently.

Simmons frowned, not liking that bit of news at all.  He sat up straighter, wanting to lean over to hear more.

Suddenly one of the men was looking over in his direction with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“It _is_ pretty good news that we got one of the aliens though.” The man told the rest of the group, all of whom glanced over at Simmons just then.

Simmons shirked away to the wall, both unused to and not liking attention in the best of circumstances…of which this was certainly not.

“Plus, it’s a Strassian to boot!” One of the humans laughed, “They sell for a ton on the black market because of how addictive their pheromones are.”

Simmons’ blood went cold at the comment.  His panic levels began to rise again, but the redhead couldn’t bring himself to speak up.

“I don’t know.  This one seems to be broken.” Another complained, sniffing the air pointedly, “I don’t feel any different.”

“That’s because they take suppressants to mask their pheromones when interacting with other species, moron!” The third man to talk before informed his comrade, “That’ll wear off in a few days, though.”

“Isn’t there a food they feed them that makes their scent-stuff go into overdrive?” Another asked, “I saw one on it before.  It couldn’t do a damn thing but lie there.”

Simmons recoiled at the mention of “ _tevkask_ ,” memories suddenly streaming unbidden to his mind.

_“Look at that, Simmons.  You made a mess again!  I’ll have to clean you up.  I swear, what would you do without me?”_

Not again.  He would _never_ be that helpless again.

Simmons began pulling at the tether connecting his foot to the cot, but all his panicked attempts to break free did was amuse his captors.

“Hey,” one of them called over to him between laughter, “Is it true you can still get pregnant despite being male?”

Simmons ignored him, face flushed with exertion and desperately trying to hold back tears.

Before the group could harass him further, the warehouse door opened and a tan skinned, chubby human entered the space with a large box of food in his hands.

“Food delivery.” The new human called out, heading for the table.

“Grif, what are you still doing that shit for?  That’s chump change!” One of the men said in a chastising tone as they threw credits in the newcomer’s general direction, “How about you try working for us?”

“Pass.  I’m trying to stay out of trouble, remember?” The new human, apparently going by the name Grif, said wryly.

“This new job is going to be a goldmine though!” The man continued, motioning over towards where Simmons was sitting perfectly still on the cot, “Just look at our first investment!”

At first, Grif apathetically glanced over at the terrified Strassian with only mild interest flickering over his features.  Suddenly though, he was walking over to the cot and staring down at the cowering, lanky man sitting there.  The dark haired man tilted his head to the side, curiously.

“I’ve never seen a Strassian up close before.” Grif murmured out loud, though the statement was quiet enough that it didn’t seem like he had intended for it to be overheard by the group of humans.

“Get a good look, so long as you don’t damage the merchandise.” The man that had talked earlier said, digging into the food.

Grif leaned over then, his hand reaching out and running over Simmons’ hair and down to his ear as the Strassian shuddered.  Simmons felt his body hitting the back of the wall as he tried scooting away from the sudden touch.  He glared as best he could to try to get the chubby human to back off.

To the redhead’s horror, though, the human known as Grif sat down next to him on the cot.  Dark eyes began roaming over his far too exposed body as Simmons practically exploded into a violent shade of red everywhere.

The Strassian was so terrified that he barely noticed the small blade in the human’s hand that he reached over to the tether with.  Placing his free hand on Simmons’ knee, Grif used the placement of his body to shield the act of cutting the tether from the wall.

Simmons blinked in shock, still stunned to silence.  Grif smirked at him conspiratorially, leaning over with his hand still on the pale skinned man’s knee to hover his lips directly by the shell of the ear he had touched moments before.

“When I tell you to… _run_.” Grif whispered.

He pulled away quickly, Simmons staring at him wide-eyed and questioning.  All the while, Grif’s hand remained a steadying presence on his knee.

“There’s some fries in there that are on the house.” Grif called over his shoulder to the men behind them.

“Oh, shit!  Really?  Thanks, man!”

The humans were all digging into the box hungrily, momentarily distracted by their hunger.

Suddenly there was a squeezing pressure on Simmons’ knee, and Grif was yelling: “Now!”

The tan skinned man moved his hand to grab ahold of a still shocked Simmons’ arm, pulling the redhead up from the cot and making a break for the warehouse doors.  The surprised gang were in full pursuit mere seconds later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Gee, I don’t know, Church! Someone from a moon colony might just make you even more exasperated than Sarge can at times (hint: his name also starts with “C”). XD Wowza, did Grif and Simmons get introduced to one another in a really intense situation! :)
> 
> Hopefully this was an enjoyable read for you. I actually had a blast writing it, and I can’t wait to dive into the next part! We’re slowly but surely introducing everyone into the story and beginning to set up the relationships. :D
> 
> As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! :D


	4. Noobs Rush In (Part Four)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The hum of the transport was nearly an exact match to the humming coming from Franklin Delano Donut himself, the young dirty blond practically bouncing in his seat on board the common area of the transport ship.

That was to be expected, of course.  It was _still_ hard for Donut to process that he was actually flying through _space_ for the first time in his life.  The Elvari had never even made it off-planet before now.

Oh, sure.  His family had traversed the cosmos a few times before on account of potential sales and what-not, but that had been back when little Donut had been too young for interstellar travel.  Then, years later, no one would even bother asking him if he wanted to go too.  But, that had been fine with him.  Really!  Donut understood how important it was for there to be someone around to watch the crops.

Right now, he was traveling through space because he had an _important_ mission to do.  He could barely contain his excitement!

The common area of the spaceship had been practically _bursting_ with activity earlier when they had taken off from Blood Gulch, but now it was fairly quiet.  It was an excellent time to think on ways the décor could be changed for ambiance later since Pink, though he personally preferred calling his mech by the name _LR_ , was safely stowed away in the hangar with the Warthog.

He was pretty much all on his own given that Volleyball had gone to help Church and Doctor Grey with making sure that the mechs were as comfy as could be for the voyage to the New Luna colony.  They’d already looked mighty cozy to Donut, but he supposed everyone needed something to do on the trip, especially if mentally redecorating wasn’t their thing.  The half-Veroni named Carolina had gone to check up on their pilot.

Donut wasn’t quite sure _where_ Lopez was, as the brown-colored robot had wandered out of the common area without so much as a word earlier.  But the Elvari suspected that maybe had something to do with Lopez being just as overwhelmed with his first voyage into space as Donut was.  If that was the case, even he could respect the need for privacy.  After all, it never did well to upset Lopez’s fiery Latin temper!

That just left Sarge in his _“been there, done that”_ attitude when it came to space flight and Palomo in the common area along with Donut.

Sarge was busy cleaning his shotgun, and the older man seemed so invested in the action that he lost track of everything else.  So, naturally, there went Donut’s idea to polish his gun then himself.  He inwardly sighed at the missed opportunity to distract himself from _“I’m finally in space!”_ thoughts.

Besides, Palomo had been lost in his own thoughts ever since they had lifted off.  Donut was about to ask the dark skinned young man what was on his mind, as it would be rude just to _“look through”_ with his Elvari low level telepathy and Donut was _not_ rude, when surprisingly the lieutenant beat him to the punch—looking over curiously at Donut in that exact moment.

“Oh, yeah!  You went to see your family before we left, right, sir?” Palomo asked, the light glowing teal lines of his half-Veroni heritage standing out on his face.

Donut blinked, feeling still a bit too young to be referred to as a _“sir”_ along with being surprised by the inquiry.

Sarge paused in polishing his shotgun only for a moment at the overheard question, but Donut could tell that the Arenian was listening to the conversation.

Donut had to choke down the usual sense of dread that came with thinking about his family in order to smile and nod at Palomo’s question as if nothing was wrong, “That’s right.”

“How did that go?” The younger man asked curiously, “I mean, my folks live on Chorus so they were okay with me joining the military.  But with your colony so far away…” Palomo trailed off, but his line of questioning was fairly obvious.

“Oh!  That.” Donut grinned appreciatively at Palomo for his obvious concern, “It went well.  It was tough for them, I think, but they understood how I felt and why it was important for me to go.”

“Ah, I see!” Palomo nodded his head in understanding, “Cool, then!”

The teal-trimmed lieutenant then stood up and exited the common area, saying something about how he should probably check on Volleyball and the others.  Donut grinned even more and waved him off, glad to be with such a well-meaning crew.  Even if…

“So, what really happened when you went and told your folks?” Sarge asked quietly, having waited until Palomo left before speaking.

Donut smiled sadly, glancing over at the older soldier in red, “Do you even need to ask, Sarge?”

Sarge grunted in response, “Suppose not.” He stated, voice softer than it usually was as he added, “Their loss, son.”

Donut nodded his head in appreciation for the kind gesture.  For the rest of their voyage to New Luna, he tried not to think of doors slamming shut in his face.

*****

New Luna was an aptly named lunar colony just a few hours of space travel from Blood Gulch.  It was primarily an Arenian colony, at least according to the statistical information the group had acquired about it.  Which, much to Carolina’s growing frustration, was about the _only_ data they were able to scrounge up on New Luna, even with Church and Doctor Grey combing through the digital networks.

“They probably just like their privacy.” Four Seven Niner had assured her as they approached the moon’s surface, “A _lot_ of Arenian colonies are like that.  Trust me.”

The redhead knew that Four Seven Niner was speaking from personal experience, having been raised in one such colony herself.

“Still, going in blind isn’t exactly my favorite thing to do.” Carolina mused.

“Huh,” Four Seven Niner’s response was immediate, “And here I thought it was the _only_ thing we did.”  The tan skinned pilot ignored the glare her half-Veroni friend sent her way at that, instead talking over her shoulder: “Better get the team ready to move out.  ETA is roughly two minutes.”

There had been no chatter over their communication channels ever since their arrival in the colony’s airspace, but that wasn’t necessarily a major cause for alarm like some might label it as.  After all, not every single colony liked to broadcast out to the rest of the universe.

No, the truth was that what was more alarming to Carolina was the lack of traffic as they approached New Luna.  Even as rustic as Blood Gulch had been, there had been centers of activity on the planet’s surface.  Here, there was practically _nothing_.  It was enough for her to bark out a quick _“Look alert.”_ to everyone as the lift lowered.

They would be joined by their two new pilots on this expedition, so who knew how long the search would even take…  But, Carolina’s thoughts about the mission halted completely when they stepped outside.

New Luna was _empty_.  It was a complete ghost town.  All of the power supplies seemed to be running on reserve status only, and there were scorch marks and rubble they hadn’t seen from a distance before.  Not to mention the tell-tale signs of bullet holes through pavement and metal too.

A battle had taken place here some time ago.  Maybe just a few months before they had arrived.

“No wonder we couldn’t find any information on this place.” Church whistled from behind her.

Carolina nodded her head in quiet agreement, jumping down from the lift onto a patch of rubble just below the landing site.  The soft crunch of stone beneath her feet did nothing to tear her gaze away from the stillness all around them.

…However, the sound of a mech’s thrusters did the trick.

She wheeled around with the others, hands going instinctively to her weapons as an unidentified mech flew several meters away from the transport.  It was gun metal green in color with a splash of blue paint on its helmeted head.

The cockpit suddenly opened as a blond-haired man around Donut’s age popped his head out, apparently unperturbed by the sight of heavily armed newcomers.

“Hello!” The Arenian newcomer said in way of greeting, voice cheerful and friendly as he grinned and waved happily over at them, “It’s nice to see people again.  You can be friends with me and Freckles!”

It appeared as if the mech actually _nodded_ at young man’s comment, visor glowing blue as it spoke in a booming voice, “AFFIRMATIVE.”

…Carolina was fairly certainly that their day could not get any stranger.

*****

Dexter Grif’s lungs were _burning_ and his heart was _pounding_ in his chest by the time they had finally managed to lose the gang by running in and out of side-alleys and narrow passageways hidden throughout Rat’s Nest.  Plus, his legs felt like they were on _fire_ and his stomach was getting a massive cramp too.

Maybe there _was_ something to be said for not eating five lunches or smoking, but fuck it!  You only live once, right?

Thankfully the door to the abandoned building that Grif sometimes snuck off to for naps was partially open.  So, he and the redhead he had just rescued, who unfairly didn’t seem nearly as out of breath as he did ( _what the fucking hell?!?_ ), were able to squeeze inside and shut the door behind them.

It took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the grainy, emergency-only lights that filtered into the dusty space.  Still, shitty lightning aside, it was definitely better than being out on the street.

The tan skinned man wheezed as he found a crate to sit on while the other guy still regarded him nervously.  Really, it was understandable given what the redhead had just been through.  Grif’s dark eyes went down to the shackle still attached to the alien’s foot.  He frowned at the sight of the rope still hanging from it.

“Hey.” Grif finally managed to get a word out without sounding like he was going to keel over any second.

The alien, a few years younger than himself it looked like, flinched slightly at being addressed.  Grif didn’t bother getting offended, knowing he would probably do the same in the Strassian’s predicament.  Slowly and carefully so that the other man could see what it was that he was doing, the dark haired human showed the alien the small pocket knife that he had used before to cut the tether.

“I can get the rest of that off of your foot.  If you want.” Grif offered, indicating with a downward tilt of his head towards what he meant.

The redhead glanced down at the shackle on his foot then, and nodded as he realized what Grif was indicating.  Hesitatingly, he walked the steps over to the crate that Grif was sitting on, observing with wide green eyes as the chubbier man jumped down to bend over his foot.

Fortunately, the shackle had just been made of a tough, thick cloth material.  He’d be able to saw it off no problem after several minutes.  Taking hold of the Strassian’s leg, and trying not to focus on how smooth it felt in his hand, Grif started to work.

“I’m Grif, by the way.” He said a few seconds later, hoping a conversation would help ease the tension and unsureness still swirling around them.

“Simmons.” The Strassian took his cue gratefully, “My teammates and I—!“

“Were hoping to bring that big orange mech back to wherever the fuck it is you came from.” Grif interrupted, summing things up pretty much on point given the questioning look that crossed over Simmons’ face then.

“Everyone on Rat’s Nest has that part figured out.  Even the errand boy nobodies like me,” he continued to explain, motioning towards the shackle, “And especially the gangs that were having territorial disputes in the area.  You know, the ones who also happen to have ties to those Charon assholes.”

Finally, his knife went through the heavy fabric as the captive band and remaining tether fell freely to the ground.  Grif grinned triumphantly at the accomplishment, feeling particularly proud of himself.  He stood up as Simmons experimentally tapped his now free foot on the ground, smiling gratefully.

When he caught Grif watching the expression on his face in awe, his green gaze turned questioning and a quickly reddening Grif had to think _fast_ to cover up why he had been staring: “I…err…have never met someone with freckles like yours.”

_Damn it._ He could really, _really_ kick himself sometimes.  As Simmons stared down at his arms and chest at the comment, Grif coughed awkwardly and continued, “Blue ones, I mean.”

“A—all Strassians have them.” Simmons muttered, poking at his skin self-consciously.

“Never really seen a Strassian up close before.” Grif admitted to the alien, before adding dumbly the next thought that flew into his brain, “They suit you.  Looks…nice.”

Now it was Simmons’ turn to look dumbfounded, his pale skin taking on a reddish tone from the tips of his gorgeous red hair down to his…  It was at that point that both men became horribly aware of the fact that Simmons was still dressed only in his boxers.

Grif coughed, trying not to stare as the redhead began futilely trying to cover himself up, muttering, _“This isn’t happening!  This isn’t happening!”_ under his breath like a mantra.

“Er, yeah.  A change of clothes would probably be good now, huh?” Grif tried joking.

Tearing himself away before Simmons could respond, Grif opened up his portable communicator and contacted Kai.  She must have already heard about what had happened because, when she answered, she was oddly serious.

The tan skinned girl didn’t even bother talking back at his odd request to bring some of his smaller clothes to one of their childhood hiding spots.  Grif was thankful for that, really.  He wasn’t sure how much Grif family drama Simmons could take in his current state.

The chubby man was surprised when he turned off the communicator, muttering to himself about _“So much for living here peaceably anymore.”_ to find a still furiously blushing Simmons regarding him with a questioning look on his blue freckled features.

“Why’d you do it, anyways?” Simmons asked softly, arms still wrapped protectively around his chest, “Help me, I mean?”

It probably made as little sense to the Strassian as it would to anyone else living in Rat’s Nest.

Grif sighed before giving him a serious look, “Because there are some things that shouldn’t be done.  No matter what.”

Simmons stared at him in stunned silence, clearly not having expected such an answer from the human standing before him.

Grif smiled self-deprecatingly, “Bet you find that hard to swallow coming from someone like me, huh?” He asked jokingly.

“Of course I don’t.”

The statement was so emphatic and declarative that Grif had to do a double-take.  He was shocked at how determined Simmons was regarding him then.

“I can swallow it because you _did_ help me.” Simmons further explained, nodding his head at Grif, “Thank you.”

Grif felt a slight rush of heat to his face and a knot in his throat at the trusting expression on the Strassian’s face.

He turned away quickly to hide how oddly _touched_ he was by the words, “Huh.  No one but Kai would ever say that to me.” He remarked, “You’re a weird one, Simmons.”

“I—I am not!” The Strassian shouted defensively.

It was even _cute_ when he got annoyed like that.  Grif had a hard time covering up his grin at the thought.

“Yo!  Bro, you in here?”

…Though, thankfully, Kai’s entrance a few seconds later made that a moot point.  He reached out and pulled her into the area the whole way, ignoring her indignant yelp and middle finger at the rough treatment.

“Yes!  Now keep your voice down!”

She gave him the finger again, “Hey!  You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Kai!”

Instead of going into her usual independent tirade, however, Kai shoved a pair of shorts and a shirt into Grif’s hands, rolling her eyes, “Here are the clothes, asshole.” She stated before her eyes wandered over to Simmons, “Although wouldn’t it be kinkier to parade your alien boyfriend around in that get-up?”

“Yeah, yeah…wait, what?”

Both Grif and Simmons turned red at the exact same time as Kai’s words sunk in, the tan girl grinning and sticking her tongue out.

“Goddamn it, Kai!” Grif couldn’t help but mutter as Simmons awkwardly thanked them for the clothes and moved to put them on further away.

“So,” Kai stated into the silence that had descended between the two siblings just then, “We’re leaving Rat’s Nest now?”

“Kai…” Grif began but trailed off, unsure of what exactly to say.  Rat’s Nest had been a horrible shithole home, but for so long it had been the only horrible shithole home that they had ever known.

His little sister stopped him by holding up a hand, “It’s cool, Dex.  I understand doing crazy things for love and hot sex, so we’re good.”

Okay, he wasn’t even sure how to begin responding to _that_.

“It just sucks since the apartment was finally paid off.” Kai sighed, looking surprisingly serious for her, “I mean, what are we going to do _now_?”

“Um…!”

They both turned at Simmons’ voice then, the alien standing there awkwardly in an orange shirt and brown shorts that were swimming on him.  Grif tried ignoring how _good_ the Strassian looked in his clothes all the same.

“I—I think I can maybe help you with that.” Simmons told them, fidgeting under their joint gazes, “That is, if you can help get me to where my ship is docked.”

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons was immensely grateful for the unexpected help he received from the Grif siblings.  The humans, having nothing to lose now thanks to Grif’s impulsive decision to help Simmons (something that Simmons would now be indebted to the chubby man for), were excellent guides through the interweaving side-alleys and streets of Rat’s Nest.

By staying off the main streets, they were able to avoid trouble and even made it back to the hangar where the transport from Chorus was in record time.  Unfortunately for them though, it appeared as if the gang that had captured Simmons before had decided to beat them to the punch.

The hangar had erupted with a hail of bullets as some of the more unsavory denizens of Rat’s Nest tried keeping the transport grounded.  Seeing it made Simmons’ heart leap into his throat.

“Captain Simmons!”

It was Jensen who first spotted the trio from where she was laying fire from behind some storage crates.  The tan skinned girl noticed them emerging from a side-alley nearby, the smile of relief on her face at seeing her mentor again a stark contrast to the dark reality that was currently unfolding around them.

“You’re okay!” Jensen said in relief, trotting over to hand Simmons a weapon before motioning towards where Washington and the others were busy holding off the hostiles in their armored ground transports.

“Thanks to these two.” He managed to get out, nodding towards the two Grif siblings as a form of introduction to the brunette just as Wash took notice of the group as well.

Wash strode over to them in the midst of the altercation as though it were nothing.  Given the sight, the redhead could certainly relate to Jensen’s relief in this particular moment, particularly since Simmons found himself immensely grateful for the steadying presence of his own Strassian mentor.

“Simmons!  We’re glad to see you’re all right.” Wash noted, indicating the battle raging on around them, “Since you’re here, maybe this calls for an exit strategy.  I suppose we’ve overstayed our welcome just a bit.”

“You think?” Grif muttered sarcastically under his breath, causing Simmons to shoot him a glare before turning to the other Strassian again.

“It’s good to be back, sir!” Simmons told the blond earnestly, “What—what can I do to help?”

Simmons pointedly ignored the _“Kiss ass.”_ comment that he heard Grif mutter as Washington glanced from the fire fight going on to their ship.  Andersmith had already made his way inside, no doubt to get it prepared for flight now that Simmons was here.

“If you could go out in Maroon and keep them off our backs for takeoff, that would be perfect.”

It seemed as they had been talking that Jensen, Bitters, and Matthews had already moved to the lift—providing much needed cover fire as they did so.

Simmons nodded his head in understanding, ignoring the nervous pit in his stomach that came at the thought of piloting Maroon in an actual combat situation.  Of course, he had practiced with Tex on Chorus.  But, that was hardly the same thing as actual combat, especially since he knew the Veroni had held back to avoid smashing a perfectly good mech to pieces.

Washington turned to Kaikaina and Grif as well, “You two just get on board!” He ordered.

“Hey!  You can’t tell us what to do, _cop_.” Kai shouted defiantly even as Grif forcibly hauled her over to the open lift with Simmons quick to follow as Wash went to help the lieutenants.

While inside the ship, the fighting noise dimmed slightly but didn’t totally diminish.  The eerie noise was a strange backdrop to finding Maroon.  His mech was placed exactly where Simmons had left it in the docking station, though now the orange mech found right here on Rat’s Nest was sitting next to it.  Simmons supposed they would just have to find its pilot later, given how the situation had deteriorated.

Stepping over to Maroon, he touched the cockpit door and watched as the metal dissolved away as if it was nothing.  Before he could step inside, however, Grif grabbed his arm.  A look of stunned disbelief was on the human’s features.

“Hold up.  _You’re_ a pilot?” Grif asked in awe, before something akin to alarm crossed over his face, “You’re going out there to _fight_?”

Simmons gulped nervously as he felt his nerves and anxiety building up again.  With great effort, he pulled his arm free of the human’s steadying grip, “I—I have to!” The lankier man said as steadily as his voice allowed, “I have to help my friends!”

For a moment, Grif looked stunned.  Then he opened his mouth to say something, but Simmons stopped him out of fear that his resolve would waver.  Instead, he practically shouted: “That—that includes you and Kai now too!”

The surprised look crossed over Grif’s features again, and Simmons took the opportunity to slip into the cockpit.  The last thing he saw before the metal came back and the cockpit’s machinery swirled to brilliant life all around him was Grif’s dark eyes regarding him with an expression he couldn’t quite identify.  Then he was off.

*****

He couldn’t believe it.  Grif couldn’t fucking believe it.  The skinny, lanky Strassian was a mech pilot.  It was so hard to wrap his head around!

_Simmons_ was a mech pilot.  That awkward, pale-as-fuck nerd was going out there under heavy gunfire to buy this ship time to take off.  He was trying to help _save them_ …  For some reason, the thought of the kiss ass doing that alone bugged the hell out of Grif, even though he knew he wasn’t really part of this world that he accidentally stumbled on.

He was so very desperate to just take a load off and _not_ think of suicidal redheads or of space battles that he had inadvertently thrust himself and his sister into.  Maybe it would be for the best if he could chill and sleep for a solid eight to ten hour nap like he normally did to destress.  He could honestly fucking sleep anywhere and at any time.

That moment of apathetic contemplation was when Grif leaned back against what he thought would be a resting place, only for the solid metal against his back to disappear.  The chubby man swore as he fell into a space that was so tech-based it was probably some nerd’s dream room.

It took Grif’s brain a few more seconds to process that the _thing_ he had been leaning on before was the orange mech he had only ever seen from a distance, and that what he was staring at now was its cockpit.

“What are you doing?” A harsh voice that the tan skinned man recognized but didn’t have a name associated with yet suddenly demanded from above his head.

When the human looked up, he found the older blond-haired Strassian from before in steel and yellow-trimmed armor glaring down at Grif as if the human had broken something _really_ expensive.  _Shit_.  Maybe he had.

“I—I…!”

The Strassian sighed and pulled Grif up, pushing him into the one chair in the cockpit, “You’re here now, so you have a decision to make.” He told him quickly in a voice that held no room for arguments, “Are you going to help or not?”

Something inside Grif wanted to say “ _Yes.”_ despite his slacker reputation.  After all, Simmons was out there fighting.

“Good.” The man nodded his blue freckled head approvingly, “Then let the mech tell you what to do.”

Oddly enough, it _did_.  Panels began glowing, and each time Grif touched one a new action happened.  The cockpit resealed, and they were moving to the lift…

Just in time to see that the maroon-colored mech had drawn pretty much all of the fire attention on to itself.  Grif swallowed nervously at the sight, as a new panel lit up.

He hit it and bullets were suddenly careening into the armored transports that had surrounded the other mech.  That action on his mech’s part provided Simmons with enough time to pull away and start heading back, just as the ship lifted up into the air.

The blond Strassian with Grif swore and hit a panel that helped stabilize the balance of the mech so that Orange wouldn’t fall at the ship’s sudden movement.  On the monitor, Grif watched as Simmons’ machine flew towards them right before everything went black.

*****

When he came to, Grif was lying in an unfamiliar room of the transport.  Even though he was seeing everything in a drowsy haze, he was coherent enough to figure that it must have been a clinic of some sort due to all of the medical equipment lying around.

It made sense considering he felt like he was experiencing a massively shitty hangover at the moment.  Truthfully?  He was more surprised by the blue freckled face currently swimming in his vision.

“Grif!” Simmons sounded relieved, a smile plastered all over his features as he stared down at the human, “You’re awake!”

“What…happened?” The tan skinned man managed to groan out.

The last thing he remembered was falling into the orange mech’s cockpit and…  Shit.  Did he actually _pilot_ a mech?  Grif sat up on the bed, Simmons grabbing his shoulder gently to help support him.

“The first time always drains you.” Simmons told him sympathetically.

“You’re telling me.” Grif groaned, “I feel like I could use twenty naps and a whole shitload of food to recharge.”

“Kai said you would say that,” Simmons smiled slightly, “And that you’d do it anyways.”

“Well, she’s not _wrong_.” Grif grinned and then looked around for his sister, “Where is she, anyways?”

“Oh!” Simmons glanced at the door, “She thought it was boring letting you rest so the lieutenants are showing her around the ship.”

Grif sighed, glad to know that she was as all right as she could be following all of the chaos he had just gotten them involved in.  An awkward silence descended upon the clinic area as Simmons turned to stare at his hands.

The redhead opened his mouth a few times as if he wanted to say something.  He always hesitated and stopped before actually uttering a sound, though Grif could take a guess as to what topic was on the socially awkward alien’s mind.

“So,” the human began conversationally, “Guess I’m a pilot now too, huh?”

There was a quick glance his way from Simmons, who also nodded his head in confirmation, “Any idea what you want to do now?” he asked quietly.

Going back to Rat’s Nest had been out of the question ever since he chose to help the nerd sitting next to him.  Not that there had really been much of a future there for him or Kai anyways.

However, being a _pilot_ now certainly presented him with some opportunities that he hadn’t quite dreamed of before.  Grif looked at Simmons and grinned.

“I guess I might as well stick with you guys, so long as Kai can too.”

“Of course!” Simmons looked downright _relieved_ at Grif’s decision, his smile a welcoming one, “We’d love to have you both on Chorus.”

“Good.” Grif couldn’t help but add, “You’ll personally help show me the ropes, right?”

There were definitely a few perks to being a pilot that Grif planned on taking full advantage of, especially if it meant being able to stay close to a certain alien.

“It’s a promise.” Simmons, not quite getting the hidden meaning of Grif’s question, just seemed thrilled at the prospect of the chubbier man deciding to stay on with them.

Grif couldn’t help but smile lazily as he said: “I think this is going to be the start of a singularly beneficial relationship.”

*****

David Washington watched Grif and Simmons talking to one another through the clinic window, smiling slightly to himself and letting out a sigh of relief.  Despite the bumpy start, it seemed as if the mission had ended up being a success after all.

Not only had they secured Orange, but miraculously they had found its pilot as well at the last possible second.  That was a win-win, in his book.

He was about to go check on the lieutenants and their other Grif guest when a comm-signal flared to life on the wall next to him.  He hit it, not at all surprised to see Carolina’s face come into view.

“Hey, boss.” He said in way of greeting, nodding his head slightly as he reported on their progress, “We found our first pilot and are on our way to the final mech location now.”

“Excellent.  We just found our third.” Carolina informed him, wasting no time with getting down to business either, “We’ll meet you there.”

With that, the transmission ended.  Wash stood there for a few moments, trying to fight the sudden urge he had to bang his head against something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be a longer chapter than I usually write anymore, but I just had so much fun with it that I couldn’t stop! :D
> 
> Next up, we will have some more moments between various characters, we’ll get more into Caboose’s story-line, AND there are a few more character introductions to be had as the intro arc for this story-line gets close to the finish line (I’ll give you a hint: one of the major ones is a certain teal-armored soldier with his very own catchphrase! Plus a pacifist and some others :D). I hope you all will enjoy the ride! :D
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	5. Noobs Rush In (Part Five)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Four Seven Niner loved nothing more than the sensation of taking off, the power of flight strumming through her fingertips as the engines and thrusters of her ship flared to brilliant life all around her.  It was peaceful, and more cathartic in a way that often tended to elude her when she was forced to be on the ground.

“Oops,” There was a loud crashing sound behind the tan skinned woman accompanied by what had recently become a familiar voice just then, “Someone who is not me did that.”

The pilot sighed at the younger Arenian’s attempt at deflection.  Michael J. Caboose had only been aboard the ship a total of twenty minutes and had somehow caused more damage to her transport than what a typical firefight normally would.

Given the blond’s clumsy nature, Four Seven Niner supposed it was a good thing that his mech, Freckles, seemed to be the one who did most of the actual piloting.  Even though _that_ was a pretty unusual set-up in and of itself.  Being out of the ordinary just seemed to be par the course for their crew anymore.

“All right, you.” She called over her shoulder, “What was my only rule for you being allowed up here?”

There was a brief pause as the large rookie evidently tried recalling her earlier order.  He finally got out: “That I was supposed to sit and play the Quiet Game?”

The dark-haired Arenian nodded, “Exactly.” She motioned with her head towards the co-pilot seat, “So sit the hell back and take a load off.”

Tentatively, as if shocked she wasn’t angrier about him disobeying her rules, Caboose settled down into the indicated chair quietly.  His gaze wandered onto the various control panels before him, and with only great effort did he seem to keep himself from reaching for them, before landing on the screen that showcased the ruins of New Luna getting smaller and smaller in the distance of space.

His eyes widened at the sight, for the first time showing some kind of a grasp about what was happening.  Four Seven Niner couldn’t help but look over at him sympathetically.

“Figured you might want to catch a view of your home one last time.” She murmured gently, feeling a need to suddenly fill the uneasy quiet that had descended upon the young man.

“Thank you.” There was a depth of emotion in Caboose’s voice as he gazed down at his hands, “It was lonely and sad there, before Freckles.  But, it was great before the noise happened!  Back before I was left all alone.”

Caboose had apparently gone to “ _play_ ” in some caves at the edge of New Luna when, at the exact same time that he had found an inert Freckles, Charon evidently deemed the small lunar colony so close to their territory ripe for dismantling.  She’d seen the desolate husks left behind after a Charon strategic attack, so the pilot didn’t even have to imagine what that must have been like.  When Charon wanted a place gone, they made sure it was obliterated.

Honestly, Four Seven Niner didn’t even want to think of how upset and terrified the kid sitting next to her had to have been once he realized that he had lost everyone he had cared for all at once.  In a way, it almost explained Caboose’s current behavior.

Besides, since she had been raised in a small Arenian colony herself, she felt a tinge of sympathy for the mech pilot, allowing her to be more patient with him than she usually would be.   Not too much, though.  She had a no-nonsense reputation to uphold, after all.

“I bet.” She finally said at length, realizing she had lapsed in the conservation.

“But then Freckles woke up, and you guys came!” Caboose began excitedly, hopefully even, “Now I have new best friends and I’m not alone or sad anymore!”

“Th—that’s great, kiddo.” Four Seven Niner could kick herself for her voice trembling as it did when she tried to get out of her sympathetic reflection.

Caboose was smiling appreciatively once more, blue eyes gleaming as he remarked: “You’re a really nice lady.”

The pilot had to hold back a scoff as she had a feeling there were a lot of people who would argue that notion with him.

Caboose, however, did not seem to notice as he continuously nodded his head enthusiastically along with his assessment of her character.  “You remind me a little of my sisters.  They were tall and nice too!” The mech pilot informed her.

Four Seven Niner wasn’t sure how to react to his comment.  A part of her wanted to sarcastically quip about how that was probably because she was Arenian too.  But, another part of her, one she wasn’t as accustomed to, wanted to hold back and not be too harsh towards the young man.

“I know!” Caboose said happily, an idea striking him just then, “You can be my new big sister!  Just like how Church is my new best friend!”

The pilot found that she didn’t have the heart to say otherwise just then, instead offering Caboose a shaky smile as she told him, “Why don’t you go find the others and tell them we’re now on our way?”

“Okay!” Caboose nodded his blond head vigorously as he stood up, headlining towards the rest of the ship, “Oh, I hope I find Church first!”

Four Seven Niner waited until the door to the cockpit closed behind her before letting out a lengthy sigh.  She shook her head, muttering, “I’m definitely going to need a stiff drink when this is done.”

*****

“ _So, you already found your first three mechs and pilots?_ ” Tex whistled appreciatively from where she was cleaning her gun, “ _That’s actually surprisingly impressive, Church._ ”

The other Veroni couldn’t help but roll his eyes slightly, tapping his gauntleted fingers against the surface of the table he was sitting at as he watched Tex through the comm-channel.  She always had to be doing something, even when in the middle of a conversation.  It was goddamn frustrating how efficient at multitasking the mech pilot was.

“More like a huge fucking coincidence given how two of them were at the same place.” Leonard Church muttered, shaking his head.

“ _Hey, I was trying to give you a compliment.  But, if you don’t want it…_ ” the blonde shrugged her shoulders indifferently as she trailed off.

Church sighed, knowing he should just take it given how rare an occurrence this was in their dynamic.  The topic of the three pilots, however, had settled on his mind and he couldn’t let it go just then, “But with how these three are?  And how we haven’t even met the pilot that Wash secured yet…”

Tex looked up then at the statement he left hanging in the air on purpose, dark eyes flickering in amusement along with the familiar upward tilt of her mouth, “ _It just means things are getting more interesting for you._ ” She joked.

Leave it to Tex to see the bright side towards any of the things he labeled as annoying.  Or maybe she was just being a bitch to piss him off even more.  Church couldn’t help but smirk back at the thought.

“We’re on route to the last mech signal now anyways.  We should get there just a little bit after Wash’s team.” The dark-haired man continued, deciding it best not to get _too_ flirty in case someone walked in on the two of them just then.

…Poor Washington hadn’t been able to look either of them in the eye for a while following the one time he had inadvertently interrupted a communication between Church and Tex that had gotten quite a bit steamier than just what he dubbed a “ _casual conversation_.”

“ _About that._ ” Tex became serious a second later, a skill of hers that still surprised Church since she could do so seemingly at the drop of a hat, “ _That’s the space station locale, right?  Sangheili?_ ”

“Yeah.” Church’s curiosity was piqued by her sudden change in demeanor, “What about it?”

“ _Sheila got some intel a while ago that the mech there may have already gotten Charon’s attention._ ” She frowned slightly, “ _I know Carolina might not like it, but do you think you might want back up for this one?_ ”

He knew that Black and Tex could make it to the station in no time flat.  Church was almost tempted by the offer now that he was aware of the possibility that those Charon assholes would probably be around.  But, Tex was right in that his sister would have a very different opinion on the matter given how infuriatingly stubborn she could be at times, especially when it came to the assistance of his on-again-off-again girlfriend.

The Veroni sighed, shaking his head, “Thanks for the offer, Tex, but with all of us meeting up with Wash’s unit we should have things covered.”

“ _Suit yourself._ ” Tex shrugged as if it was no skin off of her back either way.

Something about what she said earlier came flickering back to the forefront of Church’s mind though, and he paused, mulling it over for a second before asking, “Wait.  Who the fuck is Sheila?”

However, before Tex could respond to his inquiry, the door opened and a _bouncing_ Caboose practically leapt into the room.

“Church!” Caboose exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his ‘ _bestest new friend_ ’ in a suffocating hug, “The pilot lady who is now my sister said to tell everyone we are on our way!”

Tex’s look turned back to one of mild amusement as she watched Church struggling to breathe within Caboose’s grasp from the safety of the comm-channel, “ _Aww.  It must be nice to be so popular._ ”

“Shut…up.” Church managed to choke out at the blonde.  But, much to his chagrin, the accompanying raised middle finger he gave her only caused Tex’s sadistic smirk to widen.

*****

Washington’s group was already at Sangheili, the space station located on the outskirts of the known galaxy.  As per Carolina’s instructions, they were lying low and in wait for her group to arrive.

However, that didn’t stop Washington from deciding to go into the space station proper as soon as they had docked in order to gather usable intel for their mission.  Truthfully, Richard “Dick” Simmons expected nothing less from his mentor while the rest of the group waited in the transport.

After all, the redhead knew that, as a result of the intelligence Wash was gathering, they would be better prepared for when the other group arrived.  Then they would be ready to finally make their move.

There was only one more mech left now!  Simmons could hardly contain the bundle of nervous energy that was filtering through him just then at the thought while the lieutenants and Kaikaina had settled down in the common room of the transport to wait for Wash to come back.

The yellow-wearing girl was regaling the rookies with a tale of her youth back in Rat’s Nest.  Andersmith, Jensen, and Matthews were listening raptly while Bitters only seemed partially interested in the hard-to-believe story that Kaikaina was spinning.

The last thing that he heard from the group before the doors to the common room closed was laughter and a “ _You have got to meet my friend, Volleyball!_ ” from Jensen.

He couldn’t help but smile at the memory, glad that Kaikaina seemed to be getting along with everyone on the ship.  Beyond Wash’s exasperation with her continued insistence that he was some sort of ‘ _space cop_ ,’ that is.

Grif seemed to be getting along with everyone too, now that he was more up and about.  Oddly enough, young Matthews in particular seemed to take a real shine to him in a way that almost reminded Simmons of a Strassian mentorship dynamic, much to the orange-wearing man’s chagrin.

Currently, Simmons and Grif were in the hangar area of the transport, simply staring at Maroon and Orange in awe.  All necessary repairs to the mechs after the skirmish at Rat’s Nest had been taken care of, so they were ready and waiting here on this stretch of their mission should the need for combat arise.  Of course, Simmons personally hoped it didn’t for a variety of reasons.

Honestly, it still seemed unreal to Simmons how things had turned out, and it looked as though now he was not the only one who felt so.

“Man, the last couple of days have been something else, huh?” Grif asked him conversationally, glancing in the Strassian’s direction to gauge his reaction.

Simmons could only murmur in agreement, “Tell me about it.”

They had essentially been running full throttle since the escape from Rat’s Nest to reach Sangheili.  Actually, now that he thought about it, the reprieve waiting for Church and Carolina’s group gave them was the first chance Simmons had to really _think_ about things in a long while.  For some reason, he hadn’t done much thinking while waiting nervously for Grif to wake up.

“I still can’t believe that we’re both pilots,” the human was saying, thankfully looking over at Orange so he was unaware of how Simmons’ face had just heated up then, “And that we’re technically on our first mission.”

“I—I know.” Simmons nodded his head enthusiastically, “I’ve been one a bit longer than you have and I still find it hard to believe.”

Grif grinned over at the redhead, “We totally don’t look the part.”

“Y—you think so?” Simmons frowned in contemplation, glancing down at his maroon armor.

What the chubbier man said was true, when he thought about it.  If asked to think of traditional mech pilots, the first people that would naturally come to mind would be people like Tex or Washington who screamed “ _soldier_ ” to their very cores.  Definitely not a lanky, socially awkward nerd like him or an apathetic fat-ass like Grif.

“Eh.” Grif shrugged, “It will put us at a tactical advantage or something.”

“Yeah.” Simmons couldn’t help but smile, glad for the new perspective.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them for a few moments after that, and Simmons found the dynamic oddly pleasant given what they might be walking into in a few hours.

The silence was broken when Grif, patting Orange’s massive leg, sighed, “Though I kind of wish we were heading to Chorus already.”

_That_ figured.  One thing that Simmons had so far learned about the tan skinned human in the short time that they had been together was that he was a lazy fuck.

Simmons rolled his eyes, “You would.” He muttered under his breath.

“Hey!  I haven’t had the chance to settle into my new home yet.” Grif countered, smirking, “Plus, rest between battles _is_ important.”

Technically, Simmons knew that there was logic to what Grif was saying.  But, it felt _wrong_ knowing that the tan skinned man was throwing it out there just to try to avoid work.

“There will be plenty of time for rest when this mission is done with, fat-ass.” The Strassian countered instead, regarding the human curiously, “Besides, aren’t you the least bit curious about what the other pilots we’ll be meeting soon will be like?”

Grif shrugged disinterestedly at Simmons’ question, not looking the redhead directly in the eye, “I bet they won’t be nearly as interesting to me as you are.”

Overhearing that comment, Simmons’ face heated up once more as he stared at Grif incredulously.  His brain was so busy trying to process if it had been meant as an insult or not that Grif coughed awkwardly.

“S—so, tell me…” he began, “How did you end up on Chorus in the first place?”  The chubbier man was looking at him expectantly as Simmons gaped at him in surprise.

“Me?” The pale man couldn’t help asking.  He had to have misheard him.  After all, who would waste time wanting to know about _Simmons_ of all people?

Grif raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, “Yeah, _you_.” He stated emphatically, “What was life like for you before you became a pilot?”

For a brief second, Simmons almost wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but Grif must have sensed that was coming because he added, “You already know a bit about my past.  So, come on.  Fair is fair.”

Simmons swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry as he opened it to respond…

_He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.  Everything was blurry and it was a struggle to remain sitting upright on the floor.  He was unable to get his limbs to even move properly anymore._

_“It’s better this way for everyone involved.  At least, as a breeder, he’ll hopefully have some worth.”_

The sudden paleness of his features must have caught Grif’s attention just then because his smirk transformed into a look of growing concern at Simmons’ inability to talk.  Brown eyes lit up apologetically as Grif began to speak, “Hey, listen—!“

He was cut off, however, by the hangar door suddenly opening nearby as a harried-looking Washington strode into the space.  “Grif.  Simmons.” The blond stated in way of greeting, “Things have changed.  We need to get moving.  Now.”

Simmons blinked, rather relieved for the interruption as he and Grif looked at one another questioningly before turning back to the Freelancer.

“What—what’s happened, sir?” Simmons asked.

Wash sighed, gray eyes looking deadly serious, “Not only has the mech been activated, but it’s already bonded to a pilot.” He informed them, “Charon has them both now.”

*****

Currently being held against his will in a security cell on his home space station of Sangheili by Charon cockbites, Lavernius Tucker was pretty sure that this was the worst day of his life.

To think that things had started out pretty fucking great too!  His work had gone off without a hitch earlier, and he had just been on his way back to pick up Junior from Doc’s place when…  The dark skinned man sighed in his reminiscence of the day’s events, glancing at the two heavily armed assholes who were right now regarding him as though he were dirt underneath their boots.

Well, let’s just say that shit hit the fan pretty spectacularly when his natural curiosity about the giant mech that everyone had been talking about for the last few days had gotten the better of him.  Tucker was pretty certain that his saying the whole “ _cockpit opening when he got too close was an accident thing_ ” wasn’t going to fly with these dickwads.  Again.

Tucker struggled against the bonds that were keeping his hands tied to the chair he had been forced to sit on at gunpoint earlier, but to no avail.  The human in steel and orange armor who called himself Felix looked at him in obvious annoyance.

“Unbelievable.  Un-fucking-believable.” Felix muttered under his breath, shaking his head, “Not only did we get assigned boring-as-fuck transport duty, but the goddamned mech had to go and choose some no-name half breed as its pilot.”

“Hey, way to be an asshole!” Tucker called out to the scrawny human indignantly.

“What was that again?” The _other_ asshole, some angry dude with a shark-painted helmet who was aptly named Sharkface ( _seriously, real original there!_ ) asked over Tucker.  The big guy was regarding Felix with barely contained hostility.

“Oh, right.  Forgot you have some Arenian in you.” Felix commented disinterestedly, shrugging his shoulders, “Sorry.”

“I doubt it, but I’ll let it slide while we wait for Locus.” The other man growled out, “Though this certainly isn’t the way I’d pictured this day playing out.”

Tucker once again pulled at his bonds, “It’s not exactly how I’d planned on it turning out either, dickwads!”

To his further aggravation, both men ignored him to regard one another menacingly.  If Tucker’s hands were free, he would have given them both the finger for good measure.  But, since they were both armed and he wasn’t, it might be a good thing that he was at least a little tempered in how much he could provoke them in his current situation.

“So, what do we do now?” Sharkface asked Felix, motioning towards Tucker with a tilt of his head, “Kill him?”

“Hey!  Let’s not be _too_ hasty, all right?” Tucker couldn’t help but joke fearfully.

Felix sighed and shook his head, “Tempting as that is, doing so now would only make things a bigger headache in the long run.” He was talking as though from personal experience and Tucker wasn’t really sure if he ever wanted to know _what_ that experience was, “Best to at least bring him back to base alive.”

Felix turned towards Tucker then, a sadistic glimmer in his eyes as his hand reached for the combat knife at his side, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little _fun_ first.”

Whatever sarcastic comment Tucker had been about to say about how Felix’s idea of ‘ _fun_ ’ clearly didn’t mesh with his own died in his throat as he fearfully regarded the metallic, serrated edge slowly inching towards his face…

When, suddenly, smoke filled the room only to be accompanied quickly by the sound of gunfire.

“What in the—!“ Felix was cut off by a figure in steel and yellow shoving past him, their own knife slicing through the air as Tucker could suddenly _move_ again…

Tucker didn’t really have time to dwell on his new predicament though as the unknown blond grabbed his arm and pulled.  His rescuer was dragging him along by the elbow through the one door that served as both an entrance and exit to the cell, then down towards a side-corridor in the hallway beyond.

There, two others in maroon and orange armor respectfully were laying down cover fire to keep the two Charon soldiers from following them.  For a few seconds, that seemed to do the trick.  At least until a door opened and more Charon assholes were making their way over to the side-corridor.

A door opened with more soldiers pouring through between Tucker and his rescuer and the two aiding them in maroon and orange, effectively cutting off the pair’s escape route.

“Damn!” The man that had untied Tucker swore, motioning towards the two others, “Get back to the ship!”

The pair nodded, obviously knowing that they would have to find a new way back to wherever it was they were escaping to.  They disappeared from view a moment later.

The blond-haired man pulled on Tucker more insistently then, and Tucker allowed himself to be dragged to the relative safety of an empty corridor before pulling out of the man’s grip.  As the obviously full-blooded Strassian turned to look at him questioningly with gray eyes, Tucker tried to think of what it was exactly that he wanted to say.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the timely save.  Far from it, actually.  However, memories of an Elvari friend clad in purple and a smiling little boy dressed in matching teal clothes to his own filled his head.

“I can’t leave.  Not yet!” Tucker suddenly blurted out to the stranger who had helped save him, nearly panicking, “I have to get my son first!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter we learned a bit more about Caboose’s past thanks to his conversation with Four Seven Niner. I really like the head canon some have of the two of them being siblings, so I decided to try to incorporate it into this story in some small way with Caboose unofficially “adopting” the pilot as such. Plus, in this chapter Tex and Church had a moment, as did Grif and Simmons, along with another small hint of Simmons’ past too.
> 
> Things definitely got intense with Tucker’s introduction, which should hopefully make the next chapter an interesting read (along with Doc and Junior getting a more proper intro too) as Tucker and Wash get to know one another. Plus, we’ll see what kind of wacky adventures Grif and Simmons get into on their way back to the ship. :)
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! :D


	6. Noobs Rush In (Part Six)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Damn it.  This whole thing was getting more and more complicated by the second.  Worst rescue mission ever.  Of all time.

“Your _son_?”  David Washington repeated, as if the entire universe had frozen over with this new detail.

“Yeah.  My kid.” The dark skinned man nodded his head at the question, “Junior.”

Wash frowned at the affirmation.  By his estimate, they didn’t have much time.  It wouldn’t be long before Charon troops came rushing through this particular section of the Sangheili space station in pursuit of the mech pilot and his Strassian rescuer.

“My name’s Tucker, by the way.” The recently made aforementioned mech pilot seemed to be rambling now, most likely due to nerves.

“Lavernius Tucker.  I know who you are.” Washington nodded his head in the direction they had just come from, “Charon was sending out a file on you that we happened to intercept.”

That particular file hadn’t, however, mentioned that Tucker was a father.  But, it had been brief on any details at all now that the Freelancer thought back on it.  There was no doubt that any of Charon’s follow up reports on Tucker would be more thorough.

“That means they’re likely to have my personnel records on hand, right?” Tucker reasoned, “So the odds of them finding out about Junior are pretty high.”

The half-Strassian was right about that.  Wash sighed, “It’s more than likely, yes.”

“Like fuck I’m not taking him with me then.” With that emphatic statement, it seemed as if Tucker’s voice was just _daring_ Wash to try to argue with him.

Of course, Washington wasn’t going to.  As much as he would like nothing more than to get back to the transport as soon as possible, it wouldn’t sit right with him to allow a child to become a potential target of Charon’s.  If possible, he even wanted to help reunite the small family.

“Of course you are.” The blond informed a surprised Tucker, who had evidently been expecting some kind of argument from his rescuer, “I’ll do my best to help.”

“Shit, dude.  Really?” Tucker was regarding him skeptically, as if the idea of someone doing something nice for him was a foreign concept to the Sangheili native.

The Strassian smiled mirthlessly, “Though, in return, if you could come and work for Chorus afterwards that would be ideal.”

“Chorus, huh?” Tucker smirked at the not-so-subtle deal he was being offered, “It’s not like I have much choice in the matter given who’s on my tail in a not-fun-way right now, huh?”

“There’s _always_ a choice, Tucker—“

Whatever Wash was going to say got cut off by the sound of lasers cutting through metal behind them.  Frown deepening, he narrowed his gray eyes and turned his head towards the noise.  He reached for his knife, inwardly pissed that he had forgotten to grab a gun as well.

“Fuck!” Tucker grabbed Wash’s arm and pulled him through a side-corridor before the older man could really register what the hell was going on.

*****

They continued moving with an even stronger sense of purpose through the space station.  It was quite evident to Washington that Tucker knew exactly where it was that he was going, which he supposed made sense considering the younger man was an actual resident of Sangheili.

Figured he’d somehow fail at a mission that he had no doubt Carolina could have navigated with her eyes closed.  Washington cursed his own inconsistency with being out on the field.  It seemed that the Freelancer’s perusing of the space station’s blueprints hadn’t entirely prepared him for actually experiencing the twisty turns of the corridors for himself.

“Where are we headed?” Wash asked his companion, not knowing their destination himself and wanting to remain in the loop just in case alternative routes had to be planned.  The blond’s mind was in “recalculating mode” and thinking of different options for quick escapes as they currently made their way along Sangheili.

“To my friend’s, Doc’s, place.” Tucker explained, looking carefully in front of him and weaving through the side-corridors of the station whenever he saw fit, “That’s where Junior is.”

Washington nodded and, while a part of him knew not to pry, he couldn’t help himself from inquiring when he glanced at the half Strassian ahead of him: “You’re the one who birthed him, correct?”

Tucker cast a backwards look towards Washington, the blue-tinged freckles on his face almost looking illuminated against his dark skin, “Do I even _want_ to know how the fuck you knew that?”

Wash sighed, face reddening slightly, “Your scent has matured.” He finally stated lamely.

“My scent?  Now you’re _smelling_ me, dude?” Tucker grinned, tilting his head slightly to the side before a flustered Wash could react to his teasing, “You’re talking about that weird pheromone shit, right?”

Washington nodded, “When a Strassian gives birth, their pheromones change.”

“I think I read that somewhere once.” Tucker recalled, shrugging nonchalantly, “My dad was the Strassian.  He took off after I was born, so I had to learn a lot about that side of my heritage from books and the networks.  But, they can only teach you so much, you know?”

Ah, so that explained some things.  Despite the efforts of groups like Charon, the mixing of different alien species wasn’t particularly uncommon, especially on space stations like Sangheili.  Wash had suspected that Tucker was only half-Strassian due to his appearance.  His Strassian features had seemed somewhat muted since they were mixed with human ones as well.

“Ended up accidentally pregnant with Junior a few years ago.” Tucker continued to explain, “The other guy was human.  Got himself killed in an accident before I could even tell him.”

“I’m…sorry?” Even though he knew it sounded horribly awkward, there wasn’t much else that Wash could think to say in light of the admission.  Sometimes he honestly wished he was better at consoling others.

“Don’t be.” Tucker told the older Strassian emphatically, “Junior’s one of the best damn things to ever happen to me.”

Tucker was so sincere and proud-sounding when he said that.  Wash couldn’t help but be touched by the sentiment a bit himself.

“So, Mister Badass from Chorus,” Tucker suddenly turned the tables on him, “What’s your story?”

“My what?” Wash regarded him incredulously, “Also, my name is Washington.”

“Come on, dude, fair is fair.” Tucker rolled his dark eyes, “I told you some of my past!  Now it’s your turn.”

“I—!“

But, Wash was interrupted by the sight of several Charon soldiers when they turned the corner.  The armed group of humans were surrounding a doorway where an Elvari male dressed in purple had his hands protectively wrapped around the shoulders of a young boy.  The first thing that really registered to Wash was that the child looked an awful lot like Tucker.

From the looks of things, it seemed as if the Charon soldiers were getting ready to put the two into “protective” custody.  Wash inwardly groaned, realizing that Tucker was correct in assuming that Charon would find out about his son.  The blond had been hoping that they could have reached Tucker’s son and friend before Charon ever targeted them.  Naturally, nothing was ever that easy or simple for him.

“Junior!  Doc!” Tucker exclaimed before Wash could begin formulating a plan.

The dark skinned man raced forward, knocking one of the Charon personnel onto the ground and out cold.  Wash swore, reaching for his weapon.  Luckily, he was good enough with a knife against ill-trained lackey soldiers like this group that he managed to pick off the others before they could even react.  When it was over, the Freelancer turned to angrily glare at Tucker, about to lecture on the importance of battle tactics and legitimate strategy.

“Dad!” Junior exclaimed as he raced forward and hugged his father in the exact same moment, making Wash refrain from saying anything about proper fight conduct.

“Hey, kiddo.  I missed you!” Tucker returned the embrace before looking the child up and down worriedly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Junior replied before fearfully glancing at the unconscious bodies currently littering the area around them.

“Well, so much for my plan of inviting them in for a calming drink of tea!” The brown-haired Elvari remarked, voice oddly cheerful despite what could have nearly happened to him.

“Trust me, Doc, I don’t think that would have cut it this time.” Tucker told his friend, rolling his eyes at Elvari’s commentary.

“It’s a bit too late to say for certain now.” Doc agreed, nodding his bespectacled head, “Though they certainly _seemed_ like they could have benefitted from some calming techniques.”

Wash shook his head, disbelief beginning to pour into his body at the inane conversation taking place in a hallway filled with unconscious enemy combatants.  He stepped forward, “Tucker, we need to get moving before more of them come this way.” He reminded him, urgency in his voice.

“Right.” Tucker turned to his son and friend, “Come on, guys.  We need to get the fuck out of here, and _fast_.”

It seemed as if the urgency of the situation had finally entered Doc’s mind as he nodded his head in agreement to Tucker’s comment.  The four were off not a second later, Washington hoping they could make it back to the ship without too many more delays or obstacles.

*****

They were lost.  That much was painfully obvious as they made their way through the myriad branching corridors and hallways of the space station.  Everything looked the same too, and that was causing Richard “Dick” Simmons to begin to panic.

He could only vaguely recall the Sangheili blueprints that they had gotten ahold of minutes before the rescue mission had started, which did little to ease his growing sense of dread.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that they they’d had to remove their armored uniforms yet again to avoid detection—leaving Simmons in the ill-fitting shirt and pants he had gotten from Grif back in Rat’s Nest.  He felt grossly unprotected in an area crawling with Charon goons.

“This way!” Grif told the Strassian as he grabbed the redhead’s bare left arm, pointing down a seemingly identical hallway to all of the others they had just passed.

“What?” Simmons blinked green eyes, unsure of how the chubbier man had reached that deduction, “Why?”

Maybe there had been some clue that Simmons had missed?  He did tend to overlook things when panic settled in.  The pale skinned man curiously looked around for the evidence that Grif must have spotted.

“Looks the shortest.” Grif reasoned lazily, giving a half-assed shrug.

Simmons’ brain nearly broke at the admission, “That’s your only reason for choosing _that_ particular corridor?” He couldn’t help but remark incredulously.

“It seemed as logical as anything else.” Grif shrugged once more, tone indicating he clearly didn’t give a fuck about any other “logical” reasons.

“How?” Simmons was fairly certain his voice was taking on a shrill quality, but he was too flabbergasted to really care at the moment.

They were going to be caught and killed here all because Grif was a lazy fat-ass!  Right before he started a rant of truly epic proportions, something down the corridor caught Simmons’ eye.  He paused, deciding the rant could wait on the off chance that they might actually make it out of this situation alive.

The Strassian walked further into the corridor.  There was a sign there that looked remarkably similar to one they had passed on their way to the rescue mission earlier, back when they had been making their way to the Sangheili security cell with Washington.

“This way, then.” Simmons said quietly, now pulling Grif as he pointed towards the familiar sign.

“Told you so.” Grif said smugly, smirking.

“Sh—shut up, fat-ass!” Simmons hated how his face heated up just then.

*****

They had been walking for about twenty minutes, but Simmons was now fairly certain that they were at least headed in the right direction.  He was almost starting to feel relieved, only for panic to resurface at full force with the sound of heavy footfalls behind them.  The fast-moving pace stopped both mech pilots in their tracks.

Simmons glanced backwards, catching sight of the steel armor that signified Charon personnel, and not just residents of the station, heading towards their direction.  Damn!  He had to think fast.  There was no way they could outrun their pursuers in this situation.

Simmons glanced over at Grif.  He was surprised to find the human panicking somewhat himself over their current predicament given how laidback he usually tried to appear.  Looking at Grif’s face, an idea sprang to mind that resulted in the redhead suddenly grabbing the chubbier man’s arm and pulling him into a side-corridor.

Before Grif could fully react to the Strassian’s actions, Simmons leaned forward and _kissed_ him right on the lips, no questions asked.

Simmons’ brain nearly short-circuited when Grif, after a moment of going stock still in shock, decided to return the gesture—a lot more aggressively and desperately than Simmons would have expected for the necessary act to be believed.

The Charon soldiers looked in on the display of public affection, a noise of disgust ripping from one of their throats.

“Just another human betraying his own kind.  Fucking disgusting.” He muttered loudly to the others, who all nodded their heads in agreement before turning and walking away.

Simmons waited a few seconds, and not just because his knees had gone weak thanks to Grif _sucking_ at his neck, before glancing over at the now empty corridor.

“They’re…they’re gone!” His voice was throatier than usual as he noted his observance to Grif, “Looks like the plan worked.”

Thankfully, Grif stopped planting kisses along Simmons’ freckled neck just then—his eyes looking oddly heavy and filled with some type of emotion that Simmons couldn’t quite identify.

“Plan?” The tan skinned man murmured (when did his voice get so _husky_?  Simmons couldn’t help but wonder), “What plan?”

Simmons stared at Grif incredulously, not sure where to even start, “This—this!” He gesticulated to their only being a few mere centimeters apart.

The fact that Grif’s hands had somehow found their way to his _hips_ wasn’t lost on him either.  If possible, his face turned even redder as it took Grif a really long time to finally, and rather lazily, pull away from him.

“Oh?  Yeah, that was a pretty good plan.  Brilliant, even.” Grif was smirking, “You should definitely come up with more ones like it.”

Simmons wasn’t sure if he was about to faint from embarrassment, but he managed to somehow keep his stupidly weak legs just then from buckling.

“Any—anyways!  Let’s get moving.” The redhead called over his shoulder, now in even more of a hurry than before as his heart thudded loudly in his ears.

*****

Lavernius Tucker was grateful that Washington had come when he did.  No, wait.  Scratch that.  He was _beyond_ grateful.  Thanks to the older Strassian’s actions, not only was he away from Charon, but Junior and Doc were now safe too.

Which meant a deal was a deal and all of that shit.  He would definitely help the really hot guy and his friends.  That is, if Washington and his Chorus friends could even get the mech back from Charon in the first place.

He was thinking just that as they rounded the corner to the docking bay where Washington’s ship was evidently located.  Upon doing so, their traveling party of four nearly stumbled right into the two guys that had helped him escape earlier.

“Simmons.” Washington nodded to the redheaded Strassian first, then to the chubby human standing next to him, “Grif.  Glad to see you both made it back in one piece.”

“Uh—yeah.” Simmons’ face looked to be about as red as a tomato, “Of course we did, sir!”

Tucker exchanged a curious look with Washington at the redhead’s embarrassed reaction, especially when he saw Simmons glance awkwardly at-and-then-quickly-away from Grif.  Hmm.  Interesting!

Naturally, he had to add in his own two cents for good measure because he was awesome like that, “Oh, cool.  It’s the married couple from before!”

“W—what?” If possible, the lanky Simmons looked even more likely to faint at Tucker’s commentary.

It definitely seemed as though something must have happened between the two given the sudden redness crossing over Grif’s tanned features as well at the dark-skinned man’s comment, though Grif only half-heartedly raised a middle finger in Tucker’s direction.

Washington raised a blond eyebrow inquisitively at Simmons in what Tucker figured must be some weird Strassian culture mentor thing, but the younger Strassian suddenly seemed to find the floor fascinating.

Tucker grinned, flashing a _“See, we have nothing to worry about!”_ look of reassurance over to Junior and Doc at the more or less friendly exchange.  These guys were going to be entertaining to tease, if nothing else.

Someone cleared their throat behind all of them.  Tucker turned to see a goateed, black-haired man in cobalt blue looking positively pissed off at the entire universe standing right in front of the docking bay’s doors.

The Veroni’s gauntleted fingers rested over crossed arms as his blue eyes narrowed in annoyance: “It took you assholes long enough to show up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out, as well as for its shortness and any oddities in how it is written. Things have been pretty hectic in real life lately, and I’m afraid that has sort of seeped into my writing as well. Hopefully, things will be calmer soon! *crosses fingers*
> 
> Doc and Junior were properly introduced in this chapter, Wash and Tucker got to know each other a bit more, and Grif and Simmons had a fun time as well getting back to the ship. Plus, Church’s group is now at the station too! Things are certainly picking up pace!
> 
> Anyways, I hope that you enjoyed reading the chapter! Thank you very much for taking the time to do so! :D


	7. Noobs Rush In (Part Seven)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Four Seven Niner’s transport was currently filled to the brim, as everyone around Carolina began talking all at once given that the mission details had been thoroughly reviewed.  Everyone, that is, save Washington and the mech pilots.

Her former Freelancer teammate was joined at the hip to the mech pilot he had recently rescued.  The half-Strassian named Tucker apparently had a young son who, while not a mech pilot himself, had naturally wanted to see the mechs up close.  Wash had taken it upon himself to provide Junior and his father with a tour as the pilots got their mechs prepared for the upcoming fight.

That left pretty much everyone else who was not a mech pilot inside Niner’s transport to discuss their roles in the upcoming _Rescue Stupid Tucker’s Mech Plan_ , a silly name which the mech pilot Caboose had come up with.

Carolina wanted to call it something _not_ childish, but Church told her that was a battle she probably wouldn’t win once Andersmith and the other lieutenants started using the name when referring to the mission as well.  Even so, she still couldn’t resist the annoyed involuntary eye twitch every time she heard someone saying the ridiculous title.

The redhead risked a glance around her, hoping that she didn’t invite idle conversation by accidentally making eye contact.  Cramped in the tiny ship were all of the lieutenants, the robot Lopez, Doctor Grey, Kaikaina Grif, Church, the Elvari from the space station called Doc, and herself…not to mention Four Seven Niner, though the Arenian pilot was choosing to exclude herself from the proceedings in the guise of ship maintenance.

So long as no one tried to approach her, her sanity should be able to remain intact before the mission commenced.  Recalling how her brother always said she wasn’t much of a people person, Carolina even managed to resist the urge to yell at everyone to shut the hell up despite the headache the redhead felt beginning to linger.  The half-Veroni wondered if that was why she was so often not considered a “team player” by people who evaluated her interpersonal skills.

The plan was to set up a distraction on two fronts: one inside the space station proper and the other with the mechs outside of it.  While the Charon forces had their attention divided, Washington would get Tucker to the mech he had only recently become the pilot of.

Seeing as how they had just formulated their side of the plan, and Carolina really was beginning to fear for her sanity as she overheard Kaikaina Grif ask Doc where the best orgy spots on Sangheili were, the redhead walked away from the meeting room to clear her head a bit for the role she would have to play.

Carolina had always needed a few minutes to herself before missions.  York had often joked about it, calling those moments her “prep time.”

“Hey,” her brother’s voice asked not a second later, “You couldn’t get away quick enough either, huh?” Church was standing in the hallway, observing his sibling’s reaction to his joke.

She shrugged, shaking her head, “Just needed some time to myself.”

“Ah.” Church nodded as if her vague response had answered some other big question he’d been afraid to ask, the Veroni’s eyes twinkling knowingly against the glowing cobalt blue lines of his face.

He joined her in staring out the transport’s window, viewing the hustle and bustle of the space station’s workers.  After a few moments of silent contemplation, his blue-eyed gaze turned to the transport docked right next to Niner’s, where the mech pilots were no doubt preparing their part in the mission to come.

“Do you wish you were helping them instead of us?” Church asked her tentatively, as if scared of the former Freelancer’s answer.

To be fair, it was a loaded question, and one she doubted most people beyond maybe Wash or Kimball would have the guts to ask her.  She felt bitterness at the realization that that list was one name short, as she knew York would have asked too.  Had he still been living.  Carolina felt her gauntleted hands make fists at her sides at the sudden reminder.

Truthfully, only those closest to her, those she chose to let in her admittedly thick self-preservation barrier, would even know to ask Church’s question.  After all, it wasn’t exactly common knowledge that she had once been considered a shoe-in for Black’s pilot before Tex had come into the picture.

“No.” Carolina answered at length, surprising herself by the conviction in her voice, “I trust Wash and Simmons to make sure everything runs smoothly on their end.”

Church snorted doubtfully, but otherwise remained silent.  Carolina didn’t blame him.  The half-Veroni wasn’t known for handing control over to others easily.  In the past, she never would have.  Maybe living on Chorus was changing her.  If she was being honest with herself, the redhead wasn’t entirely sure if that was for the best or not.

“Besides,” she turned to fully face her brother, “This side of the mission is just as vital if we want to succeed.”

“Damn straight.” Church nodded his head emphatically at the determination in the half-Veroni’s statement.

Carolina smirked and headed back to the meeting room with her brother by her side.  The conversations going on came to a sudden stop at her presence, and Carolina ignored the _“Gee, wonder who the mood killer is?”_ comment she heard muttered under Church’s breath as she turned to address all of the people in the transport.

“Is everyone ready?” Carolina asked them, green eyes narrowed in such a way that they informed there was only one acceptable answer at this point.

“Yes, ma’am!” Andersmith saluted, the Arenian’s black hair tossed messily in his enthusiasm.

“I’ll be here to patch people up when necessary!” Doctor Grey stated just a bit too happily, her purple Veroni lines glowing brightly against her dark skin.

“This is going to be so exciting!” Jensen exclaimed, the Strassian’s lisp becoming more pronounced thanks to her excitement.

“O—of course!” Matthews also gave a shaky salute, his small Elvari frame betraying his anxiety.

“…Yeah, I guess.” Bitters shrugged apathetically, his large Arenian frame leaning lazily against the wall Matthews was standing by.

“Well, if everyone else is in, then I guess I am too!” Kaikaina Grif’s reply was exuberant, “I don’t like not being part of a party, especially when someone’s about to get fucked.”

“Yes!” Volleyball and Palomo both said at once, although the half-Veroni Palomo also added in a _“Who is getting fucked again?”_ question to no one in particular.

“I’m against violence, but I’ll try to help in any way I can.” Doc said politely as Church rolled his eyes in annoyance at the Elvari’s self-proclaimed pacifism.

“¿Por qué ni siquiera me preguntas a asistir a esta reunión si no se puede entender lo que estoy diciendo?”  _{“Why did you even ask me to attend this meeting if you can’t understand what I’m saying?”}_

Despite not understanding Lopez’s statement, Carolina’s smirk widened at the exuberance on display by the others from where she was standing in the doorway to the common area.  She smacked her hand onto a nearby comm channel, “How are things looking on the other transport, Niner?”

_“Looks like they’re all ready to go on the space side of the mission as well.”_ The pilot informed her while not even bothering to look at the redhead, dark eyes instead focused on the monitors of the transport’s bridge and the mission details she was no doubt receiving from Washington’s group.

Carolina nodded even though she knew Four Seven Niner wouldn’t see it, turning to face the waiting troops: “Then let’s not keep our friends waiting.”

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons was pacing back and forth, trying to calm his nerves before the battle went underway.  Most of the other pilots were giving him a wide berth, doing routine maintenance on their own mechs instead of worrying about the anxiety-riddled Strassian.

Trying to avoid a panic attack, the redhead thought back to being introduced to the new mech pilots.  Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to make of the motley crew, though it wasn’t like he had much room to talk on that front.

There was something about Sarge he couldn’t help but look up to, even though he knew that the older Arenian was unorthodox at best in his methods.  Still, Simmons couldn’t help but find Sarge’s pep talk when Wash had been going over the _Rescue Stupid Tucker’s Mech Plan_ truly inspiring.

The Elvari named Donut seemed dependable if more than just a little odd.  As for Caboose…well, he supposed it was probably for the best that the Arenian’s mech, Freckles, had some kind of active Virtual Intelligence controlling it.

The half-Strassian Tucker seemed like a handful, but he was taking the situation rather seriously due to the fact that both his son and his friend had become involved in it.  Considering that, at the moment, Tucker’s mech still needed to be retrieved from Charon there was no way to even gauge how good of a pilot he could possibly be.  …Despite Tucker’s assurance that he was obviously the mech pilot all the ladies would like to fuck the most.

“I can’t believe how nervous you are given that stunt you pulled in the hallway.”

Simmons froze at Dexter Grif’s voice.  His face took on a red hue at the reminder of his totally uncharacteristic display earlier.  The Strassian couldn’t help but think back to when he had kissed Grif and found out how surprisingly soft the human’s lips were, when he couldn’t help but take in the chubby man’s odd-but-appealing scent…

“Th—that was an entirely different situation!” Simmons managed to stammer out, hoping he could redirect Grif’s attention to the here and now.

The fucker actually had the nerve to _smirk_ at him, “If you say so.” Grif stated teasingly.

“Be—besides, that was me strategizing in the heat of the moment!” Simmons responded lamely, shoulders sagging in defeat, “What’s coming up next is a legitimate battle.”

“So?  You’ve fought in those before.” Grif reasoned, shoulders shrugging in true lazy-ass fashion.

“Yeah, and nearly pissed myself both times.” Simmons practically yelped, the Strassian’s posture getting even worse at the reminder.

Simmons expected Grif to laugh his ass off at the admission.  Or, at the very least, find him so pathetic that Grif would leave in disgust.  The redhead was not expecting the slap on his back that nearly caused him to lose his footing.  When he glanced back to glare at the tan-skinned man, he found Grif looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Well, yeah, but there’s more of us now, so things should be fine.” Grif assured the Strassian, nodding towards where Orange stood next to Maroon, “Besides, I’ll have your back from the get-go this time.”

Simmons blinked green eyes.  It took him a few seconds to process the sincerity in the dark-haired human’s voice.  He smiled slightly, rather touched by the gesture.

“Thanks, Grif.”

Now the genuine gratitude in Simmons’ response seemed to catch Grif off-guard.  For some reason that Simmons couldn’t figure out, the chubby man’s face became very red and he coughed—turning to look over the mechs once more.

“Nerd.” Grif mumbled under his breath, dark eyes glancing over at Simmons quickly with a smirk on his face.

Simmons continued to smile back, his anxiety over the _Rescue Stupid Tucker’s Mech Plan_ momentarily forgotten when he muttered the words _“Fat-ass.”_ in reply, assuming the human wasn’t close enough to hear.

*****

There were a lot of things that Leonard Church would probably prefer to do than walk into a battlefield.  Skydiving without a parachute came to mind, for instance.  But, damn it!  The mood from Carolina and the other non-mech pilots was _slightly_ infectious.  Not that he’d ever fucking admit it though.  After all, Church had a reputation to maintain.

Still, that moving moment in Four Seven Niner’s transport probably explained how the goateed Veroni found himself meandering through the Sangheili docking bay with the others, purposely going to help pick a fight.

Well, _most_ of the others.  Four Seven Niner had wisely opted to stay behind to prep her transport ship for as quick a departure as possible, although Church suspected that was more because the pilot didn’t want to be bothered with what could very well be a suicide run.

Doctor Grey decided it would be best if she remained on the transport with Four Seven Niner as well, although Church tried to ignore the manic gleam in the Veroni’s eyes at the prospect of possibly being able to use the ship’s clinic.

That, of course, left the second transport, which Kaikaina Grif and Volleyball would pilot when it was time for the Chorus group to make their escape.  So, while the two humans were with Church and company for the mission, Andersmith had volunteered to stay behind to help guard the two ships and keep the second transport ready to go once the mission was over.

Church also assumed that the Arenian wanted to make sure that Junior was being watched during the mission, having seen the older lieutenant ask Junior for maintenance assistance as a distraction for the child.

The dark-haired man had no doubt that he was going to need a whole lot of fucking therapy to explain this later.  Selfish pricks like Church don’t normally go out of their way to help others, although his scary-as-fuck sister usually had ways of persuading even stubborn assholes like him.

As Church walked through Sangheili, he made some observations about his surroundings because _why the fuck not_?  Sure as fuck seemed like the right thing to do at the time.  That’s what people did in all of these military missions, right?  Observations and tactical strategies?

The one thing that really stood out to the Veroni was that Charon wasn’t exactly hiding their presence on the station.  The xenophobic group were going out of their way to make it known that they were on Sangheili so that they could avoid dealing with the space station staff and residents.

After all, nothing screams _“Stay away!”_ to a space station filled with different alien species like a group of violent anti-alien, pro-human assholes.  Charon may as well have lit a _“Here we are, fuckers!”_ sign over their ship and mechs’ heads with how garishly on display they were.

Speaking of Charon jerks, one of the mech pilots was standing out of his machine as Church and the rest of the non-mech pilots’ group approached.  The Charon pilot was some tall asshole with a shark motif on his armor’s helmet.  If the debriefing that Tucker had given them was accurate, his name actually _was_ Sharkface.  So fucking original, this asshole.

“What the hell are—!?” Sharkface started at their obvious approach, clearly caught off guard by another group being so blatantly stupid and out in the open as Charon was.

Carolina didn’t let him finish, instead racing forward and slamming Sharkface into his mech’s leg with a series of well-placed kicks and hits.

Church provided her with cover, estimating when the other man would make a move and relaying that information to Carolina through a Veroni digital link.  It made it easier for her to counter Sharkface’s blows, which Church was sure was frustrating the crap out of the mercenary but was gleefully pleasing to him.

What could he say?  No one ever claimed Church _wasn’t_ an asshole, and he found some great satisfaction out of using his and Carolina’s Veroni abilities to beat the piss out of an alien-hating human.

While Church and Carolina were engaged with the big guy, the other members of their group took up their positions.  Jensen went to the docking bay computer terminal, Palomo providing cover fire for her as the others began holding off the swarms of Charon guards that were starting to sweep towards them and the commotion.

Eventually, Jensen found what she had been looking for as a booming voice from the main Sangheili comm channel informed the residents of the space station that the gravity was about to be turned off for routine maintenance.  A few seconds later, the weightlessness of zero gravity enveloped everything.

Admirably, the Chorus group continued holding their own, although that may have been mostly because they had the assistance of gravity thrusters.  This was partially a Washington plan after all, and that dude sure as hell always came crazy prepared.  Church would normally have mocked the former Freelancer for it save for the fact that the Strassian’s paranoia actually helped them today.

So, yes, thanks to Washington’s over-preparedness, the Chorus group were all looking pretty good even as objects and unprepared people started floating through the air.  Unfortunately, the asshole Sharkface was not one of them.  He was clearly used to fighting without gravity.

Church wondered through the Veroni link if the Charon member was perhaps half-Arenian, as they were more adaptable to different gravity scenarios.  It sure as hell would explain why he was so huge too.

He was met with his sister’s _“Does it look like I care right now?”_ through the link.  Church assumed she was probably a little preoccupied at the moment with not getting her ass kicked to consider the origins of the dude trying to kick it.

Carolina narrowly avoided a tackle through the air, placing a kick to Sharkface’s back as a counter just as explosions started going off outside the station.

Sangheili rocked somewhat as the mechs entered the fray.

*****

The general strategy for the Chorus mech pilots once the mission started was to attack the Charon mechs and transport with everything they had and not let up.  That way they wouldn’t lose the extremely important element of surprise.

It was chaotic and disorganized, as all mech battles seemed to be.  Truth be told, Simmons was doing fairly well and holding his own.  A quick glance at Maroon’s monitors showed the redhead that the others were doing the same.

Right as the Strassian was about to let out a quick sigh of relief, a steel and orange mech broke rank from the Charon forces and lunged right towards him.  From Tucker’s report, the mech’s color scheme indicated the pilot was named Felix.  Tucker had also described the Charon mercenary as a “ _total asshole_ ,” but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

Even from just the little information Simmons had gleamed from the fight moments before, he recognized that a mech pilot like Felix was leagues and away better than himself.  The redhead felt his blood run cold.  No doubt his blue freckles were probably standing out even more against his paler-than-usual-even skin.

In that moment, he totally froze in fear despite hearing his voice, Jensen’s voice, Wash’s voice, and even Grif’s voice in his head yelling at him to _“Move, damn it!”_   Simmons closed his eyes as the energy sword the mech held loomed ever closer in his vision, heading straight towards the cockpit…

But, the final blow didn’t come.

_“Simmons!  You all right?”_ Grif’s voice called out over his mech’s comm channel, uncharacteristically panicked.

Simmons opened his eyes, looking towards the monitor to see what had happened.  He could make out that Orange had blocked the enemy mech’s blow just in time, which had obviously saved his life.  While safe for the moment, the Strassian’s fear didn’t abate when he realized that the others were too far away and dealing with their own attacks to come to Grif and Simmons’ aid.

_“Even two of you assholes don’t have enough combined experience to beat me.”_ Felix informed them mockingly, pulling his mech back and readying for another assault.

_“We’re in trouble.”_ Grif muttered, all traces of apathy gone as the steel and orange mech rushed forward.

“You think?” Simmons called out to the other pilot sarcastically as Maroon blocked an attack meant for Orange, the redhead glancing at the damage output statistics that began displaying on his mech’s screen.

The Chorus mech pilots could only hope that this plan bought Tucker and Washington the time that they needed.

*****

_Rescue Stupid Tucker’s Mech Plan_ was currently underway, although Lavernius Tucker wasn’t entirely sure why Caboose of all the people working for Chorus was allowed to name the missions.  Well, other than the fact that Arenian’s mech, Freckles, was pretty fucking persuasive.

The mission seemed to be going well, if the massive amount of chaotic frenzy was anything to go by.  Tucker couldn’t make out a lot of what was going on, but _holy fuck_!  The hot redhead in cyan had nearly broken a metal rod over someone’s head a second ago!  Tucker made a mental note to never piss off Carolina as he followed Washington towards where Charon kept the mechs in their transport.

Per the plan, while the others were keeping the Charon forces occupied Washington helped use the distraction to sneak Tucker over to the mech that Carolina had recently dubbed Aqua.  Personally, Tucker thought his mech should have been named Teal instead, but whatever the hot-as-hell-and-scary-as-fuck lady said worked for him too.

There were only two Charon guards present at the mech given all of the chaos currently going on in Sangheili, and Washington disposed of them with an efficiency that bordered on nearly unsettling.

After that, Tucker was racing to Aqua’s cockpit, his hand outstretched as the metal seemed to melt away to reveal the inner workings of the giant, humanoid-shaped robot.  Wash wasted no time in pulling the rather awestruck Tucker inside, throwing the other man into the pilot’s seat before the half-Strassian even had time to joke that he could at least buy him dinner first.

The cockpit wall suddenly came up again, revealing a whole lot of terminals and displays that Tucker had no fucking clue what to do with.  In the middle of a literal fucking firefight of all things!

Before the dark-skinned man’s panic could truly settle over him like a cold blanket, Tucker felt a reassuring hand squeeze his shoulder.  He looked over at the Strassian standing behind him, dark eyes questioning.

“You can do this, Tucker.” Washington told him calmly.

Tucker swallowed, the vote of confidence, however misplaced it might be, helping him to at least muster up his usual air of bravado.

“Hell yeah, I can!” Tucker told the blond before a serious matter crossed his thoughts and he frowned, “But, just in case this doesn’t go well, you still remember what you said about taking Junior with you to Chorus, right?”

It had been something he had made all of the Chorus people swear to.

His shoulder was given another squeeze, and Tucker tried to ignore the odd sense of butterflies he got in his stomach in response to the slightly older man’s touch.

“He’ll be taken care of.  I promise.” Washington reassured him again, pointing to a glowing control panel to his right, “Now go.”

“Shit!  You don’t have to tell me twice!” Tucker yelled, smacking his hand on said panel as hard as he could.

Seconds later, Aqua’s thrusters activated and the mech tore through its restraining bolts and out into space.

*****

Tucker’s explosive exit from the space station was the signal that they were waiting for to make their way back to the transports.  Green eyes narrowed at the sight.  Carolina decided it was time to wrap this up, punching her opponent and hoping he’d decide to give up.

Sharkface, however, seemed content to keep everyone behind schedule: “Not bad, and here I thought you’d be puny like that other redhead you Chorus shits brought with you.”

Carolina didn’t give in to his taunting, instead lunging forward and bodily shoving him through a nearby room.

Church grabbed the back of her armor with both his gauntleted hands as she let Sharkface go to float through the zero gravity of the area, pulling his sister back out as Doc and Lopez locked the door after her.

“That was quite the workout!” Doc said jovially, acting as if they hadn’t just witnessed Carolina in an almost literal fight to the death seconds before.

“Sí, los entrenamientos para evitar ser asesinados tienden a ser.”  _{“Yes, workouts to avoid being killed tend to be.”}_

The former Freelancer nodded her thanks to the three of them, motioning to their waiting transports.  No one had to be told twice as they sprinted back the way they came.

Out of the corner of her eye, the half-Veroni could see that Matthews was having some trouble with his gravity thrusters but, before she could turn around to assist, Bitters had beat her to it: the Arenian grabbing Matthews by the arm and forcibly dragging him onto the transport.

After being informed that Volleyball and Kaikaina were seeing to the second transport through an Elvari telepathic link courtesy of Doc and once everyone was on board both vessels, Carolina was hitting the comm channel to Four Seven Niner with her fist.

“Floor it!” The redhead shouted, hoping that the tone of her voice would create a much needed sense of urgency.

Luckily for all of them, the pilot did not need to be told twice either.

*****

In what was probably the biggest _“Well, no shit!”_ moment of all time, Dexter Grif had decided that the battle against Felix wasn’t going too great.

That conclusion was more or less confirmed when the asshole mercenary knocked his mech downwards, Felix’s mech’s sword-knife-dagger-whatever the fuck they wanted to call it ( _Grif didn’t really give a shit at the moment what it was technically classified as, being more concerned with the whole “it will hurt no matter what the fuck it is” concept_ ) was about to stab through Orange’s cockpit…

When suddenly Maroon ( _Simmons!_ ) jumped in front of Grif’s mech as if attempting to shield Grif from the blow, placing the kiss-ass in the lethal position instead.

“You fucking idiot!” Grif shouted through the comm link at the suicidal nerd, just as an aqua blur came speeding onto the scene and Tucker’s mech knocked Felix to the side.

_“What the f—!?“_ Felix began but was cut off as Aqua’s blow evidently, and thankfully, knocked out the Charon mercenary’s comm channel.

_“Take that, asshole!”_ Tucker called out over his own channel before turning to the two friendly mechs nearby, _“You guys okay?”_

Before either Grif or Simmons could respond, the Chorus transports were careening by and Church was yelling loudly over the comm channel, _“Everyone, move your asses!  Now!”_

None of the mech pilots needed a second notice to pull back.  Grif inwardly sighed in relief as he watched from Orange’s monitor the other mechs also following the transports towards safety: Donut’s Pink, Sarge’s Warthog, Caboose’s Freckles, Tucker’s Aqua, and finally Simmons’ Maroon.  It seemed that they all wanted nothing more by that point than to leave the Charon-infested space station behind, even though it appeared as if the _Rescue Stupid Tucker’s Mech Plan_ was a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: when you aren’t too great at writing action scenes, you need to stop coming up with story ideas that will require them. O_O; Sorry about that! I hope that this chapter still read okay despite my hesitancy towards writing action scenes. :D
> 
> Next up is the epilogue to “Noobs Rush In,” so I hope you will enjoy the conclusion of the first story arc for _Shiny Things_! :)
> 
> Just as a reminder in case you’re getting confused by the alien races/how they’re different/who-is-what, I have a handy guide for them in the ending Author’s Notes to Chapter 2! In the upcoming Author’s Notes for the epilogue to “Noobs Rush In,” I will also include a guide for the mechs.
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this story! :D


	8. Noobs Rush In (Part Eight: Story Arc 1 Finale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The two transports and their mech loads arrived back in Chorus without much incident, save for the bickering banter that was to be expected when having such varied crew member personalities onboard.  Carolina sighed, trying to desperately still her growing headache.  Thankfully, the Charon forces apparently saw little point in pursuing the Chorus group as they headed back into their home territory.

That particular enemy strategy suited Carolina just fine, although it did bring up some concerns as to why they weren’t being followed at the moment.  Was Charon simply biding their time for a direct assault?  Still, the half-Veroni had a feeling that the others in their motley crew, particularly their newest recruits, were thankful for the reprieve.  As Church said, maybe it was best if she didn’t spoil their mood with her natural “killjoy” tendencies.

Vanessa Kimball and Tex had both been at the Chorus docking bay, waiting for everyone to disembark.  The two of them were not alone as standing with them was an unknown female Veroni with gunmetal green markings on her body.  Carolina was not familiar with the woman, however, given the relaxed posture of both Kimball and Tex in her presence, she recognized her as an ally and not an enemy.

The leader of Chorus wasted no time in welcoming the newcomers to the planet and introducing herself, though the formalities pretty much ended at that after the mechs and other supplies were unloaded.

Everyone was tired from the events of the voyage from the Sangheili space station, and most simply wanted to take in their new surroundings in peace and adjust to their new surroundings in peace.  Kimball seemed to understand that, and the Elvari was always accommodating.  She exemplified a true leader in that regard, unlike Carolina’s less than understanding methods of leadership.

As the others continued milling about and talking amongst themselves, the dark-skinned woman caught Carolina’s gaze with her own and smiled somewhat.  Kimball joined her in watching Donut’s mech, Pink, being unloaded next from Four Seven Niner’s transport.

“I take it from all of your communications and from how haggard everyone looks that the trip was an eventful one?” Kimball finally asked the cyan-armored woman in a joking tone.

Carolina sighed, but the redhead couldn’t help but give the other woman a little smirk as she leaned on the railing overlooking the ships, “You have no idea.”

Kimball’s smile widened, the Elvari leaning against the railing herself to look directly at Carolina, “Maybe you could tell me more about what happened over a drink.” She suggested, “I think we could both use a break.”

Carolina’s expression turned into a surprised sort of smile at the offer as she nodded, “Agreed.”

*****

Tex couldn’t help but smirk in amusement at the sight of Caboose clinging tightly to Leonard Church the second they had gotten off the transport.  Obviously, the Arenian was happy to start this new leg of the journey with his “ _best friend who was not Freckles_ ” as he so often described Church.  The younger blond had been babbling excitedly about all the things they could do on Chorus together.

Church was only _finally_ able to pry himself away thanks to the timely intervention of Four Seven Niner, as the Arenian pilot wanted Caboose’s help with moving something heavy off of her ship since she apparently “ _couldn’t trust the morons who usually help me with that shit_.”

Caboose was happy to help his newly adopted sister out, telling Church that now that they were “home” he just _had_ to show him a new type of tag that he and Freckles had invented.

As Caboose scampered off, Tex’s smirk at her boyfriend’s plight only intensified, “Well, you certainly came back with more than you bargained for.” She teased him.

Church’s face turned red and he promptly gave her the finger, “Shut up.”

Unfortunately, that only caused the amusement in her brown eyes to light up even more, and the dark-haired man was reminded of just what was so both infuriating and intoxicating about the blonde all at once.

Church sighed, turning slightly and finally noticing the petite Veroni woman still standing politely behind Tex, “Who is she?” he mouthed to his girlfriend.

The woman must have had incredible lip-reading skills because she spoke up just then before Tex even had the chance to respond, “Greetings.  My name is Sheila.” She said with a slight bow of her head.

“We had our own little adventure while you guys were out having fun.” Tex chimed in after her, “Sheila here is a mech pilot herself.”

“No fucking way.” Church muttered under his breath, both surprised and rather annoyed by the news.

What was the goddamn point in going out into the galaxy to find the fucking mechs and their pilots if they could just show up here at Chorus easy-peasy?

Perhaps whatever _had_ happened that resulted in Sheila coming to Chorus wasn’t quite as easy as Church initially thought, for the woman’s pretty face was overcome with a contemplative frown a second after Tex had spoken up.

“Regrettably, I still have extensive repairs to make to the Tank.” Sheila informed him, shaking her head slightly.

So, that was what her mech was called then.  Church was suddenly curious as to how it looked.  Sarge, standing close by still with Doctor Grey and Lopez, perked up at what he had just overheard.

“No need to fret, little lady!” He informed Sheila with a gentlemanly grin suffusing his face that looked super creepy given how twisted Sarge could be sometimes, “Lopez here can help you with any repairs you need to make.”

“Gracias por ser voluntario.”  _{“Thanks for just volunteering me.”_ _}_

Whatever the robot just said, Church was fairly certain it was with a sarcastic note seeping into his electronic voice.

Sheila tilted her head to the side, regarding Lopez, “…If it isn’t too much trouble.” She finally said at length, “Thank you, Lopez.”

She smiled at the brown-armored robot, Lopez stiffening slightly and seeming almost _shy_ with the attention that was being placed on him just then.

As the two were walking off together, Doctor Grey tapped Sarge’s shoulder impatiently, “You should really let me treat your cut, Sarge.” She noted, indicating the rather large wound on the older man’s forehead from the fight at the space station.

“Eh, it’s fine.  An injury like this is nothing.” Sarge shrugged his shoulders dismissively, “I’ll just walk it off.”

“Or you _could_ do the intelligent thing and let me treat it.” Doctor Grey noted, a sudden challenge in her voice, “Unless you’re _afraid_ , that is.”

Sarge guffawed, “Lady, I am not afraid of anything.  Except hippies.”

“Then prove it.” The dark-skinned woman smirked, “Let me stitch you up right as rain!”

The two glared at each other for a few more moments before Sarge let out an appreciative whistle and nodded his head, “You’re one tenacious opponent, I’ll give you that.”

“That’s so kind of you to say!” Doctor Grey smiled at the strangely worded compliment, “You’re a sweetheart.”

They both smiled at one another, a faint blush forming on Sarge’s weathered features at the Veroni’s comment before they were walking off in the direction of the hospital in Armonia together.

Church stared after them, mouth hanging open, “What the fuck just happened?” He asked, truly wondering whatever the hell it was he had done to be tortured so.

Tex smirked again, “Aww, did little Church never get The Talk?”

Church groaned and gave her the finger again, “Shut up, bitch.”

There was no venom to it, however, and Tex’s widening smile even caused one to grow on his own face.

*****

The lieutenants were all talking together following Kimball’s welcoming speech after they had disembarked from the transports, Matthews watching as everyone interacted together in their own unique form of comradery.  Volleyball and Kaikaina were talking particularly close to one another, evidently having hit it off during the flight back from the space station just as Jensen had predicted they would.

“You _have_ to give me a private tour of Chorus before my lame-ass brother tries to get me to “ _stop embarrassing the family_ ” or some shit!” Kaikaina told the blonde excitedly before blowing a puff of air at a black strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face, “Although I say fuck to that because I make us look good!”

“No doubt.” Volleyball nodded her head and smiled, “Sure, I’d love to show you around!”

“Fuck yeah!” Kaikaina exclaimed, grinning, “Big bro can just suck my lady-dick!”

Jensen watched them go with a knowing smile on her face as a wave of nervous energy suddenly flooded over Matthews, and he turned to see his childhood friend Palomo approaching the smiling Strassian.  The Elvari had almost forgotten how strong Palomo’s crush on the girl was, his own skin heating up as if he was feeling the emotions like they were his own.

Matthews frowned slightly, bringing up his mental shielding.  Getting caught off-guard like that and accidentally catching wind of someone else’s private emotions or thoughts was the worst, and something the auburn-haired rookie often tried to avoid although it was difficult in large crowds.

“Um…so, K—Katie?” He heard Palomo ask in a shaky, awkward voice, “N—now that we’re back…do you want to practice driving some?  To celebrate getting back in one piece, I mean?”

The hopeful tone in Palomo’s voice wasn’t lost on anyone there, despite the collective dread building up amongst the others thanks to how infamous the Strassian’s driving skills were.  …It had taken about an hour to get all the fires out the last time she had been allowed to do so in training.

Jensen’s brown eyes lit up at Palomo’s unexpected offer, “That would be awesome!  Thanks, Palomo!”

Palomo grinned in response, a blush forming on his face as the female mechanic eagerly started pulling him towards where the ground transports were located.

Andersmith smiled and shook his dark-haired head, “Palomo is braver than I thought.”

Bitters scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “Or he’s even dumber than we give him credit for.”

The older lieutenant frowned slightly at the other Arenian’s choice of wording just then, and Matthews figured it was probably time for him to say something to avoid another skirmish occurring between the two.  Andersmith and Bitters seemed to always be butting heads, much to their group’s dismay.

“Um…B—Bitters?” Matthews began, fidgeting nervously when the larger Arenian’s eyes landed on him, “I…I just wanted to thank you for helping me when my gravity thrusters stopped and—!“

“Forget about it.” Bitters cut him off with a wave of his hand, promptly walking away as if annoyed by the very attempt at conversation.

Matthews stared after him sadly, unsure of what he had done to illicit such a response from the sullen young man.  The silence that suddenly fell was deafening until Doc and Donut’s voices drifted over from where the two Elvari were talking nearby.

“Oh, I agree—purple _is_ a soothing paint choice for a living room!” The pink-wearing colonist was saying amicably to the medic, “But have you ever considered lightish red?”

“Hmm, I haven’t, but you have a point there!” Doc stated thoughtfully, laughing somewhat as he pushed up his purple-framed glasses to rest higher on his nose, ‘Boy, who knew choosing paint colors could be so much fun?”

“Oh, you just have to see my paint swashes then!” Donut exclaimed, grabbing Doc’s had and practically dragging him towards his recently unloaded mech, Pink.

Matthews had been so caught up in watching Bitters leave and then in listening to the oddly compelling conversation going on behind him that he started a bit when Andersmith grasped his shoulder in a sympathetic fashion.

“That’s just how Bitters is, Matthews.” The older lieutenant told him before nodding in the direction of the transports, “What say we go and see if Four Seven Niner and Caboose need our assistance?”

Casting one last, sad look in Bitters’ retreating direction, Matthews smiled gratefully at his friend as they made their way over to the transports.

*****

“This here is my mech!” Lavernius Tucker waved an arm theatrically to encompass Aqua, grinning, “Pretty fucking awesome, am I right?”

“Yeah!” Junior’s eyes lit up at the sight, and the little boy was practically jumping up and down on the balls of his feet.

Tucker’s grin widened at his son’s reaction, “Your dad is going to become a badass pilot!  Just you watch.”

“I know you will!” Junior was looking at him with something akin to awe, and Tucker definitely didn’t want to let him down.

...The half-Strassian would work his ass off here in their new home, just so that Junior never lost that look on his face.  After all, it was way better than a look of trepidation or resentment for being suddenly uprooted from the only home that the boy had ever known.

Tucker really hoped that all of the excitement of what had happened would overshadow the part of the story where they had to leave Sangheili behind.

It hadn’t been planned in the fucking slightest, but he hoped this decision turned out to be the best one he had ever made for their small family.  Tucker already had a bit more confidence in thinking that he had probably made the right decision given the smile that Junior had been sporting ever since they had stepped foot on Chorus.

“How are you both holding up?” a familiar voice asked from behind the father and son, and Tucker turned to see Washington walking towards them.

The older Strassian greeted Junior with a slight smile before his gray eyes landed on Tucker’s brown ones.  The blond was clearly waiting for the dark-skinned man to respond to his question.

“Well, it’s going to take a _lot_ of getting used to,” Tucker began nonchalantly, “But Chorus seems like a fucking awesome place so far.”

“Uh-huh.” Junior nodded his head in earnest agreement.

“I’m glad.” Washington smiled even more at their responses, and the half-Strassian was once again reminded of how _nice_ that expression looked on his face in general, “If you want, I can give you a proper tour around…”

Washington seemed a bit awkward at even offering to do so given how he just sort of mumbled off at the end of his sentence, so it was probably a Big Fucking Deal that he had done it in the first place.

…And for Tucker and his kid, no less.  The dark-skinned man was rather touched, not that he would ever admit it.  He wasn’t nearly as socially awkward as Washington was, after all.

Washington looked like he was about to just give up and walk away, so Tucker decided they should take pity on the poor guy.  Father and son shared a conspiratorial glance at one another before simultaneously nodding their heads in response.

“Fuck yeah, that would be awesome!” Tucker exclaimed.

The smile on Washington’s face widened and his gray eyes almost sparkled next to his blue-tinged freckles, and yeah…Tucker decided that he _definitely_ liked that expression on the blond.

As the trio began walking off, Tucker cast a glance over Junior’s head at the older male, “Hey.  About everything that happened out on the station?” he asked quietly.

Washington glanced over at him, nodding slightly to encourage Tucker to continue.

He took in a deep breath “Thanks, man.  I really mean it.”

The Freelancer regarded Tucker fidgeting nervously for a few seconds, “You’re welcome.” He finally said, amusement dancing in his eyes as he saw Tucker visibly relax, “I take it thanking people isn’t something you’re used to doing?”

Tucker smirked, “Dude, you have no idea.”

“I might.”

As the two adults shared a look then, Junior looked up at both his father and Washington questioningly before simply shrugging to himself.  After all, he would have plenty of time to figure out the odd ways of communication amongst grown-ups.

*****

“This will be your room.” Richard “Dick” Simmons concluded his tour of Chorus with what was arguably one of the most important parts, at least in a somewhat tired Dexter Grif’s opinion.

“Hmm.  Not bad.” Grif glanced inside the spacious apartment and had to stop himself from doing a double-take in order to maintain his apathetic appearance.  The place was at _least_ three times bigger than his and Kai’s home back in Rat’s Nest.

Speaking of his little sister, he hadn’t seen her yet since their arrival at Chorus.  He could only hope that she wasn’t out embarrassing the family somehow.

“Mine’s right across the hall if you need something.” Simmons noted, nodding his head to a door on the other side of the narrow hallway.

Grif perked up even more at the thought of them being neighbors, though his thoughts went back to something that had bugged him for a while now that things had calmed down.

“Well, now that I know where I am living and all, how about we talk about that stupid stunt you pulled back during the fight at Sangheili?”

Right, he still hadn’t wrung the nerd’s neck for that one.  Back when the Strassian used his mech, Maroon, to block what could have easily been a fatal blow to Grif’s mech.  The chubby human had been so uncharacteristically worried that Grif would have killed Simmons himself after the fear that Felix had done so already dissipated.

Simmons’ face took on a reddish hue, “What, you mean trying to save your fucking life?”

“It wouldn’t have been worth it if you or both of us had died, dipshit!” Grif countered.

Simmons glanced at the ground, “Well, what _should_ I have done then, asshole?  Let you get fucking killed?”

Grif sighed, “Honestly?  I have no fucking clue.” He admitted, “I’m newer to this whole mech business than you are.  All I know is that it would have sucked ass if you died.  You’d probably bitch haunt me until the end of time.”

Simmons glanced up then, face definitely red now.  It was a cute look on him, what with his blue-tinged freckles, pale skin, green eyes, and all, “…I could say the same thing about if _you_ died.” He muttered.

“Cool.  So, we’re on the same page then: either of us dying would royally suck.” Grif joked.

“Y—yeah.” Simmons nodded, a tiny smile forming on his face.

Seeing that caused Grif’s own smile to widen, “You know, you skipped the most important part of the tour.” He noted, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Oh?” Simmons glanced at the human, caught off-guard by the sudden change in topic and by the notion that _he_ had somehow forgotten anything important.  Total nerd.

Grif nodded, “Yeah.  The mess hall.  I’m fucking starving.”

As if on cue, the lazy man’s stomach started to rumble.  He couldn’t have planned it any better himself.

Simmons stared at the orange-wearing man for a few moments before he smiled again, “This way, fat-ass.” He said, trying to hold back laughter.

Grif grinned and followed the Strassian, “See?  What did I tell you?  I have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful partnership.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Simmons muttered, eyes seemingly avoiding making contact with Grif’s.

“ _Trust_ me, Simmons.” Grif stated, resisting the sudden urge he had to throw his arm over the other man’s lanky shoulders as they walked as a pleasant smell seemed to fill the hallway.

Simmons still didn’t look totally convinced, but he nodded his head and even answered a few more questions that Grif asked him regarding Chorus and Strassians in general.  The redhead even dared to ask a few questions of his own about Grif’s past in Rat’s Nest, although he was frustrated by Grif’s lazy-and-less-than-stellar replies, especially when he realized the human was answering that way on purpose just to annoy him.

Neither man seemed to notice the large smiles that had formed on their faces as they talked more together, eventually walking past the now fully stocked Chorus mech docking bay as they headed towards the mess hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! I figured the finale to “Noobs Rush In” would be the perfect treat for everyone! :) I hope that you enjoyed this first story arc for _Shiny Things_ , and that you will like the story arcs to come in this story-verse too! :)
> 
> I’ll be taking a quick break from _Shiny Things_ now that I’ve concluded the first story arc in order to work on a NaNoWriMo story which will also be posted here! Hopefully you will enjoy that fic too, and then I will be getting back to _Shiny Things_ in no time flat. :D
> 
> Here is the Mech Guide for _Shiny Things_ so far:
> 
> ~Black (Pilot: Tex)
> 
> ~Maroon (Pilot: Simmons)
> 
> ~Orange (Pilot: Grif)
> 
> ~Pink (Pilot: Donut)
> 
> ~Warthog (Pilot: Sarge)
> 
> ~Aqua (Pilot: Tucker)
> 
> ~Freckles (Pilot: Caboose)
> 
> ~Tank (Pilot: Sheila)
> 
> ~Steel (Former Pilot: Washington)
> 
> ~Three Currently Unnamed Charon Mechs (Pilots: Locus, Felix, Sharkface)
> 
> Please remember that the Alien Species Guide can be found in Chapter 2! I hope that helps somewhat! XD As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D


	9. Contact (Side Story)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Carolina was walking through the corridors of the Armonia headquarters, absentmindedly glancing through high-storied windows as she did so.

Even from the extremely tall vantage point she currently had while traversing the building, Carolina could make out the shapes and figures of people milling about with packages held tightly underarms.

She sighed, recognizing all the telltale signs of “ _Mail Day_ ” while trying to actively remove herself from it.  “ _Mail Day_ ” was the time every month when an assortment of interplanetary packages made their way to Chorus from all over the galaxy.

The half-Veroni absolutely despised the day for very personal reasons, despite knowing how well it boosted morale on the planet in general.  Subconsciously, her hand went to the lighter in her pocket before she turned her green-eyed gaze away from the window that she had been contemplatively staring out of.

Absentmindedly, she knew she shouldn’t really complain.  After all, there were several people Carolina knew personally on the planet who were always overjoyed at the arrival of packages.  It made sense that they would be happy to see tokens from loved ones they didn’t get to see often, or that they were receiving item orders they had placed months in advance.

…Though the former Freelancer also knew there were others, such as herself, who very much dreaded whenever “ _Mail Day_ ” came around.

She had a feeling that the person she was about to see was one of them, given Vanessa Kimball’s often noted absence from the public eye whenever it was “ _Mail Day_.”  It was an easy enough guess, especially when she entered Kimball’s darkened office and heard the tail end of a familiar message playing.

_“…Be sure you damn well know who you’re entrusting Chorus to.  I certainly did.”_

Kimball glanced up at Carolina as the recording cut off, her finger tapping the “stop” touch button on the datapad at the forefront of her desk.  Silently, the Chorus leader waved the other woman in.  With another swipe of her hand, light suddenly bloomed into her office.

Next to the datapad that had been replaying Donald Doyle’s final message was a stack of other thin tablets.  Carolina had long since realized that particular pile was meant for Kimball’s completed work.

So, it appeared that the Elvari had been working even harder than usual given the time of day.  It was rather impressive that the dark-skinned woman had finished all of her work already, though the reason for her fixation was apparent in her hooded eyes.

Carolina felt as though she didn’t really have to ask, but she did so anyways to fill the suddenly suffocating silence, “” _Mail Day”_?”

Kimball smiled wryly as she leaned back in her chair, “How’d you guess?” She joked before a slight sigh escaped her lips, “I’m not the biggest fan of today.”

“I can imagine.” Carolina’s hand went to the familiar weight of the lighter in her pocket once more, lingering there on the cold metallic surface.

“I know it helps the troops though, so I’m not going to complain.” The dark-skinned Elvari continued, her eyes settling on the datapad before her.

Carolina wondered how often Kimball had played it already today.  Her thoughts went unbidden to a broken Veroni man, one who never looked at her when she was growing up but whose eyes were staring unfocusedly at a human blonde saying how much she hated goodbyes on a screen.

Memories could be dangerous if one got lost in them.  The redhead swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat, hand gripping the lighter tighter until she could practically _hear_ York laughing and telling her to chill out.

Looking back now, Carolina could admit that there were definitely times when she should have heeded his advice.  Right now was as good a time as any to start.

“Hey,” she motioned to the doorway with a tilt of her head, “Want to get out of here and get a drink?  I’ll buy.”

Kimball seemed surprised at the offer, but she smiled thankfully a second later, “That sounds like an amazing idea.  Thank you, Carolina.”

With that, Kimball was up and heading towards the doorway.  The Elvari smiled even more when Carolina put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture before they both left the office behind.

*****

Kaikaina Grif found Volleyball in one of the residential halls’ common areas, a box of some sort sitting on the table next to her.

“Hey, hot stuff,” she greeted the blonde as normally as she usually did since arriving on Chorus, “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, hi!” Volleyball looked up with a beaming smile on her face, “Just got a package from my parents back on Earth.”

…Right.  Kai had overheard some people talking about it being something called “ _Mail Day_ ” today or whatever.  She hadn’t really paid too much attention to the details because, with Grif here on Chorus too, who would bother to send her mail?

Besides, the dark-haired girl was fairly certain that she hadn’t ordered anything in a while.  Grif didn’t like her spending his credits on “ _adult toys_ ” so she was making due with her old shit.  For now.  Well, until he wasn’t looking and she could swipe his card, at least.

Kai had also chosen not to pay too much attention to “ _Mail Day_ ” because doing so and seeing everyone so happy over gifts and messages from loved ones reminded her a bit too much of her childhood.  She had often waited around for her parents to send them shit when she was younger, before she had wised up to the notion that they were never coming back and didn’t care what happened to her or her older brother.

Maybe something about the younger Grif’s last thought lingered on her tanned features more than she would have liked, because Volleyball glanced up at her thoughtfully before turning her attention back to her folks’ care package once more.

“You know,” Volleyball began quietly, “My mom always sends me way too much peanut brittle in these things.” She eyed Kai hopefully, “You wouldn’t want to share it, would you?”

Kai grinned at the notion, “Fuck yeah, I would!” She exclaimed loudly, sitting right next to the other human girl.

Both females smiled at one another before diving into the tasty treats.

*****

The knock on Doctor Emily Grey’s door caused the Veroni woman to glance up questioningly.  Since she had just seen Washington out earlier that day, she hadn’t been expecting more company.  For some reason, she rarely received visitors when in the middle of her research.  Doyle used to say it had something to do with her “ _doctor disposition_.”

The dark-haired woman found Sarge standing in the doorway rather awkwardly, the larger Arenian holding out a package that may or may not have moved a second ago.

“Dang it.  Looks like our mail got switched again.” He informed her, holding out the side of the package that clearly had her name on it.

Doctor Grey glanced over at the package on her desk.  It looked surprisingly similar in size and coloring to the one the older man held, but her dark eyes noted the name “Sarge” printed clearly on it.  There she went again: barely looking at something and just grabbing it when preoccupied with something else!

“So it did.” She motioned him inside with a distracted wave, cleaning up her work area at the same time.

Sarge came in and set her correct package down before grabbing his own, though he seemed oddly reluctant to leave.  “It’s funny how that only seems to happen with our things, ain’t it?” he asked after a moment’s contemplation.

The dark-skinned woman shrugged, joining him at the desk, “I suppose it is because our interests are so similar.” She noted, though she frowned thoughtfully a moment later, “Though…”

“Though?” Sarge prodded her to continue.

Grey felt her Veroni purple-lined cheeks go slightly warm, “Though, with the frequency of how often it happens, I would nearly suspect someone was doing it on purpose.  Just so they could have a reason to visit.”

“Huh.  You don’t say.” Sarge’s face had gone slightly red with a hue that almost matched his shirt as he rubbed the back of his head, “Not that I am saying you’re on to something there but, out of curiosity, how would you… _feel_ about that if it were true?  Would you be angry?”

The younger woman smiled, shaking her head, “Not at all!” Grey admitted, “I may have been debating about doing just that myself.  If we’re talking in hypotheticals.”

Sarge smiled himself, “Well, maybe it’s a darn good thing this accident keeps on happening then.”

“Maybe.  It certainly leads to some charming conversations.” Doctor Grey agreed, her face heating up once more.

It wasn’t long afterwards that the two were once again having a rather lengthy discussion on the positive applications of robotic arms.

*****

David Washington was spending the rest of the day on a break, although the time off from work wasn’t particularly his choice.  Rather, it was the result of a helpful suggestion from both Kimball and Grey after he had near collapsed from overworking.  “ _Suggestion_ ” of course meaning “ _order_.”

The Strassian was walking back to the residential area of Armonia when he ran into Lavernius Tucker holding a large box.

Oh, right.  Today was “ _Mail Day_ ,” wasn’t it?  The former Freelancer hardly paid it any attention since he had fallen out of contact with his family some time ago after joining the project.  Judging by the large grin suffusing the half-Strassian’s features, Tucker must have gotten something that he had been wanting quite a bit.

Washington couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind when he saw Tucker clutching the package, “What did you get?” He asked the younger man casually in way of greeting, “Porn?”

It _was_ Tucker, after all.

Tucker made a face and gave him the finger, “Rude!” The dark-skinned man informed the blond testily, rolling his eyes, “Besides, everyone knows that’s what the networks are for.”

Washington couldn’t help but roll his gray eyes in response himself, “My apologies.”

Tucker huffed, “If you _must_ know what’s in the box, dude, it’s nothing super-exciting or special.” He stated, looking down at the partially open container, “Just some coloring books that I ordered for Junior and Caboose.”

Washington blinked in surprise at the mention of the second name in particular, “Wow, Tucker.  I must say I’m impressed.” He noted, “Who knew you were trying to build up team cohesion so early on in your stay here?”

Tucker stuck his tongue out, “Oh, it’s nothing fucking like that.  I’m just hoping to distract the big guy from the stove for a little while.”

Ah, yes.  They all remembered the last time that Caboose had tried making grilled cheese sandwiches.  It was a total mystery how the Arenian hadn’t starved to death back when he had been left to fend for himself along with his mech Freckles on the lunar colony before the Chorus group had found him.

It made sense that Tucker, who lived with Junior across the hall from Caboose, was particularly keen on avoiding any more kitchen mishaps.

“Anyways, I already gave Caboose his share, so I was going to spend some father-son quality time with my kid.” Tucker glanced over at Washington thoughtfully, “You on break or something?”

“Something like that.” The Strassian was perplexed by Tucker’s sudden interest in what he was up to, “Why?”

The dark-skinned man shrugged, “Well, I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to join us possibly?” His voice rose slightly in pitch at the end of the suggestion, cheeks warming up, “I’m pretty certain one of the books I got is all about cats.  Somehow.  Fucking mystery how that happened.”

Washington felt heat rise to his own blue-tinged freckled face at the implication behind Tucker’s words, “Now which team cohesion are you trying to build up?” He tried joking to offset how eagerly he may have nodded his head in response to the question.

Tucker didn’t respond, yet both men walked in the same direction back to his apartment: red-faced and shoulders practically touching all the way.

*****

Four Seven Niner was busy overseeing the restocking of her transport.  She wasn’t entirely solo, however.  Andersmith, one of the lieutenants, had volunteered to help her out with it.

She had to admit, the dark-haired man was a fairly efficient worker.  The cargo was well-organized and properly stored every time she checked.  Without her even having to yell to get it done multiple times!  In fact, they were almost finished with everything.  In record fucking time no less!

“So,” the pilot decided to try for some small talk even though she sucked at it, “I take it you’re not chomping at the bit just because it’s “ _Mail Day_ ”?”

The dark-haired woman hadn’t been born yesterday, so she recognized when someone was trying to distract themselves under the guise of extra work.

Andersmith straightened at the question, a pained expression momentarily crossing over his Arenian features, “I have no one to send me mail anymore.” He quietly admitted a few seconds later.

Damn.  She hadn’t been suspecting _that_ heavy of a reveal.  Frowning, the female Arenian let out a sigh, “Sorry.” She muttered under her breath, “Just forget I said anything, all right?”

Andersmith nodded quietly, opening his mouth as if to respond further…

“Sis!” Caboose’s voice called out from the open hangar, “And Smith’s here too!  Oh, good!”

Andersmith stood up even straighter then and saluted, smiling as though the conversation from before hadn’t even occurred, “Hello, sir!  What can I help you with?”

Four Seven Niner relaxed around the young man who had become a constant around her ship ever since he had decided on “adopting” her as one of his older sisters, “Hey, kiddo.” She greeted Caboose casually, “What’s up?”

Caboose grinned as he held up an assortment of what appeared to be coloring books, “Look what Tucker gave me!”

Four Seven Niner smiled at how happy the blond seemed to be with the gift, “That should keep you busy for a while.”

“Very nice, sir!” Andersmith chimed in.

“He got you one too.” Caboose informed his adopted sister eagerly, holding out said book for her to inspect.

The tan-skinned woman raised a dark eyebrow in amusement at being included, “Did he now?”

The pilot lifted up the _Coloring for Adults_ book from Caboose, glancing from the cover over to Caboose’s hopeful expression.  She sighed, “What the hell.  We’re almost done here anyways.” She remarked before turning to Andersmith, “Want to join us?”

“It would be my pleasure, ma’am.” Andersmith saluted her.

Nice enough guy, but they’d have to work on that.

…If Four Seven Niner had realized then how this would become the start of an odd sort-of tradition for the unusual and new family, she would have been even more amused.

*****

“I think we should open it.” Antoine Bitters remarked as he and Matthews stared down at a package that was clearly marked for one “ _Dexter Grif_.”

“We shouldn’t!  It was…it was given to you by mistake, Bitters!” Matthews noted, horrified at the prospect.

“But, now it’s mine.  Finders-keepers and all that shit.” The Arenian informed the bespectacled rookie matter-of-factly.

“I—I’m not sure you can call that “ _finding_ ” it.” The yellow-trimmed lieutenant was trying desperately to think of a counter-argument, “Besides!  Wha—what if it’s a gift for Kaikaina?”

“For Kaikaina?” Bitters frowned at the notion, even _more_ curious now.

The younger auburn-haired male nodded, “It might be!  I bet Captain Grif is an _amazing_ older brother.”

Bitters snorted, “I bet you don’t have any siblings, huh?”

Matthews pulled back as if the orange-trimmed lieutenant had physically struck him, “Pro—probably not?” He stated anxiously, wilting a bit under Bitters’ questioning glare, “My family…doesn’t really want much to do with me.” He admitted sadly.

“Huh.” Bitters mulled over that piece of information in his brain, “We have something in common then.  My family’s a bunch of assholes too.” When Matthews looked over at him in surprise, he was smirking, “Wonder what else we have in common.” Bitters mused out loud.

“I—!“ The Elvari began sputtering, trying to come up with something to say in response as his face turned completely red.

In that moment, Bitters ripped the tape off of the package despite Matthews’ protest.  The apathetic lieutenant was a little disappointed, but not at all surprised, to find nothing but snack cakes in the box. 

“Well, that figures.” Bitters let out a sigh.

Just then, a trail of dust kicked up into the air as one Dexter Grif raced over to the two lieutenants as though it were a matter of life and death.

“What are you dumbasses doing with my essential food delivery?” The chubby human wheezed out angrily.

Bitters raised a multi-colored eyebrow at that, “Essential?” He echoed back incredulously.

Without another word, Grif grabbed the package from him and held it tightly to his chest as though he were cradling an infant.  He turned to leave when he paused and looked over at the two younger men, wordlessly handing them both a snack cake before happily continuing on his merry way.

Bitters and Matthews both glanced at one another.

Matthews smiled, “Isn’t Captain Grif so generous?” he asked, voice full of awe.

The Arenian groaned, clasping Matthews’ shoulder and pulling the other lieutenant along with him as he walked, “He gave us the only two strawberry ones in the box because he didn’t want to fucking touch a fruit.  Come on, let’s go and find somewhere to eat these in peace.”

*****

Charles Palomo was gushing over the care package that he had just received from his family.  Even though they lived on Chorus too, it wasn’t like he had the chance to really go and visit them all the time since he was always holed up in Armonia.  So, he naturally always enjoyed whenever “ _Mail Day_ ” came around.

Katie Jensen glanced up from the mechanic magazine that she was reading at the fourth exclamation of _“Yay!”_ that had come from the half-Veroni in a ten minute timespan.  She smiled, “That’s great, Palomo.  I’m happy for you!”

The tan-skinned man grinned, glancing over at his oblivious crush only to notice something odd, “Didn’t your family send you anything this time, Jensen?”

The Strassian girl shook her head, wincing slightly, “No, but they never do.” She sighed when she noticed the questioning look forming in Palomo’s brown eyes, “There was some…argument when I decided to come work here at Chorus.”

“Oh.  That’s too bad.” Now Palomo was feeling like a complete and utter tool for even bringing the subject up given how depressed her blue-tinged freckled face had become.

Jensen shrugged her shoulders, her downcast expression clearly saying that “ _it was what it was_.”

Palomo frowned and stared down at the package that he had been perusing, until a truly _awesome_ idea hit him full-force in the face.

“Hey,” he called out to the tan girl with braided hair in order to get her attention once more, “My family always sends me comics.  Every time.”

This piqued Jensen’s curiosity, and she glanced up, “Comics?”

The dark-haired rookie nodded, “Uh-huh.” He blushed slightly before adding, “They’re pretty good distractions.”

Jensen caught on to what he was getting at a second later, smiling herself, “I’m game then!”

*****

Frank “Doc” DuFresne was surprised to find Franklin Delano Donut redecorating his room for the fifth time that week (he just hadn’t gotten it perfect yet!) instead of cheerily getting his mail like everyone else had done.

“No mail today?” Doc asked after their customary friendly greeting to one another, feeling something of a connection with the fellow Elvari.

Donut shook his head, “Nah, all of my magazines come digitally so…” The dirty blond trailed off, frowning over a pink vase that he had just moved from its original position on a rhinestone decorated nightstand.

“Ah, so not expecting anything from your family this time?”

Donut stiffened at the question before shaking his head and picking up the vase once more, “All of my family that matters is here.” He finally admitted quietly, nodding in Doc’s direction, “You guys are my family.”

Doc nodded his head in sympathetic understanding then, “So your family back home…?”

“Would probably rather I didn’t exist.” Donut’s voice was so unfamiliar and robotic when he spoke that Doc had to resist the urge to hug him then and there.

The purple-wearing man coughed awkwardly, feeling guilty that he had pressed the subject so much.  It seemed that the brown-haired medic couldn’t help himself when it came to wanting to learn more about Donut, even though the two Elvari had only met recently.  Doc’s childhood friend Tucker was constantly teasing the pacifist over his obvious crush on Pink’s pilot.

“Well, I’m grateful to be included in such an important group to you then.” Doc finally said at length before adding with a gesture to the redecorating going on around him, “Do you want help?”

“Do I?” Donut was back to smiling as if the original conversation had never even happened, “That would be terrific!  I can’t seem to fill all these cracks and holes no matter how hard I come at them.” He clapped Doc on the back in a friendly manner, “Thanks so much, Doc!  I’ll even buy dinner later as payback.”

Doc smiled himself, thinking that a happy expression suited Donut the best.

*****

Leonard Church was seated in one of the residential common areas, watching people coming and going with packages.

“Oh, joy.” A familiar voice suddenly spoke up from next to him, “It’s “ _Mail Day_ ” again.”

After her commentary, Tex sat down next to Church without another word, brown eyes glancing over the people disinterestedly as well.  She seemed as awkward over the whole thing as he did.

“Yeah.” Church muttered quietly, “It’s fucking weird, right?  We don’t even fucking get anything.”

After all, given their more unique origins, who would even send them so much as a message?  Beyond maybe Carolina, that is.  But, that wasn’t really her style.  Or theirs.  They weren’t a touchy feely bunch, after all.  More like a “beat your ass up” bunch.

No one really wants to send those types of people heartfelt messages.

Tex regarded the dark-haired man carefully before a teasing smirk began to play across her lips, “Do you want me to write a letter just for you, Church?”

The Veroni’s face heated up and he spluttered, “D—don’t be fucking ridiculous.”

The blonde laughed, the sound both infuriating and melodious to him all at once.  “Come on.” She stood up from the table they were sitting at, hand outstretched for him, “Let’s say we get out of here until this shit blows over.”

Church couldn’t help but smile at the prospect, his hand holding onto hers even though they’d both probably be fighting with each other later.

*****

“My thanks for always being such a good mechanic for The Tank, Lopez.” Sheila noted as the two worked side-by-side on recalibrating some of the mech’s weapon systems.

“Para una hermosa dama como tú, no hay problema.”  _{“For a beautiful lady like you, it’s no problem.”}_ Lopez practically whispered, though Sheila heard the comment and smiled somewhat as her face turned slightly red, “Además, tú eres una de las únicas personas aquí que me entiende.”  _{“Besides, you’re one of the only people here who understands me.”}_

“I suppose it would get rather lonely with no one able to talk to you.” Sheila stated sympathetically, eyes glancing towards the brown-armored robot.

“Aunque con este grupo, a veces eso es algo bueno.”  _{“Though with this group, sometimes that’s a good thing.”}_

The female Veroni smiled at his joke, getting up and dusting off her knees.

Lopez regarded her curiously just then, “¿Puedo preguntarte por qué no estás muy emocionado por este " _Día del Correo_ "?”  _{“Can I ask why you aren’t too excited over this “_ Mail Day _”?”}_ he inquired.

Sheila nodded, “My older sister is the only person who would send me something,” she frowned, looking somewhat pained before continuing, “But she disappeared years ago.  I came here hoping to find her.”

Lopez stood up himself, touching Sheila’s shoulder gently, “Perdón por traer eso. Pero la encontraremos.”  _{“Sorry for bringing that up.  But we’ll find her.”}_

“I hope so.” Sheila smiled sadly before taking her hand and resting it on top of Lopez’s since it was still on her shoulder, “Thank you, Lopez.  You are very kind.”

“...Puedo estar sobrecalentando.”  _{“…I may be overheating.”}_

*****

Dexter Grif was feeling pretty good after having retrieved his snack cakes from Bitters and Matthews.  He was planning on going to sneak into Orange’s cockpit to eat his bounty there in peaceful bliss before falling into a welcome food coma, the perfect lazy plan for a maverick like himself.

Well, that _had_ been his wonderfully glorious plan as he entered the Chorus mech docking bay, at least until he noticed Richard “Dick” Simmons sitting on Maroon’s shoulder.  The nerd’s head was bent low as if he had been crying, a discarded package sitting next to him.

It _had_ to be Simmons of all people.  Grif took in the scene and sighed, realizing that his own plan would probably have to wait.

Fucking conscience.

With some effort, the chubby human managed to climb over the safety railing of the catwalk in order to join the red-haired Strassian on his mech.

“Hey, nerd.” He greeted casually enough, “What’s up?  Did one of your action figures get bent in delivery?”

Simmons wiped at his blue-tinged freckled face hastily, blinking in surprise at his despair’s sudden interruption.

It took a few moments for Grif’s words to sink in, but when they finally did the pale-skinned man rolled his green eyes, “Haha, very funny, jackass.” He muttered, trying to push the box away from Grif as he did so.

Grif could only catch a glimpse of what was inside the package with all of its tissue paper, but he was rather caught off-guard by what appeared to be…yellow-ish baby booties?  He shrugged slightly to himself though, assuming that it was probably a Strassian culture thing he wouldn’t understand at the moment.

Simmons stared at the offending package sadly as Grif, careful not to slip on Maroon’s metal plating, sat down next to him. “After all this time, I should have realized what it was before I even opened it.” He muttered, more to himself than to the orange-wearing human sitting next to him.

When Grif, not commenting due to his unfamiliarity with the situation, didn’t respond Simmons glanced over at him and elaborated a bit.

“My father’s an asshole.” He stated sadly, but in a matter-of-fact tone of voice that gave no room for argument.

Ah, so that explained who the booties came from then even though Grif was still at a loss as to why they were so upsetting to the redhead in the first place.  But, still, Simmons seemed so despondent over the package.

Since it probably wasn’t Grif’s place to ask for further elaboration _yet_ , he knew of one selfless gesture he could make that might actually help.

Sighing dramatically, he motioned down to his own precious cargo, “Want to have some snack cakes with me?” He offered, “I’ve got a whole box.  Minus a couple fucking disgusting strawberry ones.”

Simmons looked over at Grif, clearly surprised by the totally magnanimous gesture he had just witnessed.  The kiss-ass was actually at a loss for words.  Grif kind of liked throwing the nerd off like that.

“Come on, dude.  I don’t offer to share this stuff every day.” Grif told Simmons succinctly when the redhead still hadn’t responded.

At length, Simmons gave him a watery, grateful smile and nodded.

The two ended up staying together on top of Maroon for several hours in amicable silence, hands nearly touching and a container of half-eaten snack cakes sitting next to them.

When all was said and done, Simmons seemed to be have calmed down quite a bit.  In fact, the Strassian looked to be just as thankful for the company as Grif surprisingly felt.

Despite being in the docking bay, at that moment thoughts of mechs and “ _Mail Day_ ” were far from both of their minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better way to start _Shiny Things_ off again in December than with a cute side story featuring all of the couples and everyone involving gift-giving and sharing? I hope you like it, as well as enjoy the further insight it gave into some of the characters’ backstories for this particular AU.
> 
> …I didn’t realize exactly how many of the characters in _Shiny Things_ come from really not-so-nice families until I started writing this story out. XD At least they have one another now to look out for them, huh? :)
> 
> Coming up next in _Shiny Things_ is the second Story Arc. I’ll be introducing another major antagonist in it, and some mind-tripping stuff will be occurring too! I hope you’re looking forward to it! :D
> 
> Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this. :) I promise the next Story Arc will have a bit more substance to it once it gets underway, but I could not resist this idea once it came into my head. XD


	10. (Always) A Trap {Part One}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Black’s cockpit was well-accommodated for two people.  Complete, even, with an extra seat behind the pilot’s chair for some reason.  Even with that fact firmly in mind, Carolina still felt as if the mech’s cockpit was oppressive.

Though, the half-Veroni noted as she turned her attention onto the cool-as-ice Tex, it was perhaps just her perception that had her feeling that way rather than the space itself.  In an attempt to reinforce the reality that Black’s walls weren’t actually about to crush her, Carolina let out a small breath to steady herself.

“We should be there soon.” Tex commented a short while later, the blonde’s voice like a knife piercing through the heavy silence.

“Right.” Carolina replied uncomfortably as she shifted in her seat, green eyes fixated on the inky blackness of space all around them.

The redhead could see the other mechs flying in what was as close to formation as they were liable to get, a sight which she was thankful for since it once again reminded the former Freelancer of their current mission.

This wasn’t the time to allow Carolina’s uncomfortableness towards the full-blooded Veroni pilot sitting in the front of Black to get the better of her.  After all, they were heading out to answer a distress signal from a colony that needed some assistance in dealing with Charon raiders.

Carolina’s gauntleted hand flew over the communications panel at her side, the entire console flaring to brilliant life as she thought of the office on Chorus that belonged to a certain woman that she wished to speak to now.

Instantaneously thanks to her Veroni abilities, a screen popped up in front of the redhead, though she was surprised at the _two_ familiar faces that greeted her.

“ _Yo, sis._ ” Church said in as jovial a voice as he could muster ( _which wasn’t all that much_ ), “ _What’s up?_ ”

“Church?” In the mech, Carolina saw Tex’s back straighten somewhat at her brother’s voice, “What are you doing in Kimball’s office?”

“ _Being bored to fucking tears is what I’m doing._ ” The dark-haired Veroni replied briskly, grimacing as if to further reinforce his point.

The Elvari woman sitting next to Leonard Church raised a dark eyebrow in amusement, “ _We were just going over some paperwork._ ” Vanessa Kimball responded, gesturing to a stack of datapads on her desk.

_“Didn’t I just fucking say that?”_ Church questioned, though he quickly changed his tune to smirk at his older sister, _“Though I’ve gotta admit, I_ am _rather curious about how you and Tex are doing as_ pilot buddies _for this mission.”_

“Watch it, Church.” Tex muttered to her boyfriend in warning, “Or I won’t get you any souvenirs.”

“ _Oh, like you ever do, bitch._ ” He shot back a bit more testily than her joke probably required.

Carolina couldn’t help but roll her eyes at their antics before addressing Church’s earlier comment, “It isn’t exactly ideal, but it _is_ necessary.” She admitted, “The other mech pilots are still largely untested in actual combat situations.  They’ll need as much Freelancer expertise on this mission as they can get.”

“ _I take it that the mission is going to be commencing soon?_ ” Kimball asked before Church could add in any more of his two cents.

Carolina nodded, “We’re approaching the colony.”

“ _Just try to come back in one piece, you hear?_ ” Church remarked a moment later, sounding slightly more concerned than usual.

Naturally, Tex couldn’t wait to jump on that.  The blonde scoffed, her black facial markings glowing in the light from the numerous control panels all around her, “Naturally.  Why else would the two of us be coming along?”

Church became slightly red-faced, and Carolina decided to step into the conversation again to keep the two Veroni from entering yet _another_ heated debate.

“We will, Church.” She promised her sibling.

“…And maybe we’ll come back with a souvenir for you.  If you behave.” Tex couldn’t help teasing.

Church was grumbling something under his breath just then about “ _being surrounded by jackasses and bitches_ ” as Kimball cleared her throat.  Carolina turned her attention back to the dark-skinned woman on the screen.

“ _I know that you weren’t too keen on leaving Chorus_ defenseless _with all of the mechs gone, Carolina._ ” She stated, bringing to mind the many debates that the two women had before this mission had begun in earnest, “ _But I believe this will be the perfect opportunity to see if the training of our regular military is also paying off._ ”

Carolina nodded her head slightly in agreement, “So long as no one really has need to use it.”

Kimball smiled bittersweetly, “ _That would be ideal._ ”  There were a few moments of comfortable silence following this exchange before Kimball shook her head and stated, “ _At any rate, be sure to keep me updated with daily reports._ ”

“Only if you do the same.” Carolina countered with a slight smile forming on her lips.

Kimball blinked in surprise for a moment before returning the smile, “ _Deal._ ”

That was the end of the communication.  Out of the corner of her eye as the screen faded out of existence, Carolina caught Tex _smirking_ at her.

“What?” The redhead asked, suddenly feeling very defensive and exposed.

Tex shrugged, “Nothing.” She assured the half-Veroni before motioning to the image display of the other mechs flying around them, “Though you might want to tell the others that we’re approaching the colony.  Those idiots probably wouldn’t figure it out even if they crash landed on the damn thing.”

Carolina was still _almost_ tempted to comment on Tex’s reaction just then, but ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth it.  Instead, she went to work on doing just what the other woman had suggested, inwardly fearing that Tex’s assumption about the other mech pilots was fairly accurate.

*****

“ _C’mon, man, you’ve gotta answer._ ” Dexter Grif’s voice matter-of-factly informed Richard “Dick” Simmons over their communication channel.

Simmons sighed, “We’re on a mission here, Grif.” He reminded Orange’s mech pilot, hoping that they could maintain at least a little bit of mission protocol for appearances’ sake.

After all, both Washington and Sarge were on this mission!  Not to mention so were Carolina and Tex, even if Simmons found both women terrifying.  Still, it was important to have a good working reputation!

“ _Doesn’t mean you can’t answer the question._ ”

The red-headed Strassian sighed once more, unsure if he should be more annoyed or impressed by the chubby human’s tenacity on this particular subject.  He shifted in his seat in Maroon’s cockpit, “Okay, so what about _your_ answer?”

“ _Mine?_ ” Grif seemed genuinely taken aback by the turn around.

“Yeah, yours.” Simmons stated smugly, happy to have finally turned the question away from himself, “You can’t ask someone a question like “ _what’s your ideal superpower?_ ” and not have an answer of your own.”

That was fucking _logic_ , man!  Score one point for Simmons.

“ _Fair point._ ” Grif sounded rather impressed, “ _Well, if you_ must _know, I’d probably go with invisibility._ ”

“Invisibility?” Simmons furrowed his brows, somewhat taken aback by the response.

Truthfully, the Strassian was rather surprised that Grif’s answer was so normal.  The lanky man would have honestly guessed that Grif would want some kind of power that would involve an infinite supply of food, or possibly the ability to nap anywhere.  …Not that Grif didn’t already eat like he had an infinite supply of food, mind you.  Plus, he fucking slept wherever he pleased already.

“ _Yeah, invisibility._ ” Grif’s voice took on a comical stage whisper despite the fact that only he and Simmons were ever on this particular channel, “ _Think about it, Simmons!  You could take naps undetected_ anywhere _, and you could sneak as much food as you wanted with no one being the wiser._ ”

Simmons couldn’t help but shudder, unsure of whether or not to be impressed or terrified that Grif had put so much thought into his answer, “No man should have that much power.” He finally muttered under his breath.

“ _Now it’s your turn, Simmons._ ” Grif informed him, sounding oddly eager to hear Simmons’ response to his question.

Simmons answered before he really had time to register just what it was he was saying, “I’d want to be able to make bad memories go away.”

There were a few awkward minutes of silence following that, during which Simmons winced and hoped that maybe Grif hadn’t heard him.

“ _Huh._ ” Grif’s oddly surprised voice dispelled that hope a second later, “ _That’s…an oddly specific one._ ”

Simmons laughed, high-pitched and nervous, “W—well, think about it!” He began, “I mean, everyone has bad memories they’d like to get rid of!  Am I right?”

He hoped Grif wasn’t looking too closely at the communication display screen, because he was fairly certain that he had started to sweat.  The pale-skinned Strassian could feel his blue-freckled face flush in embarrassment.

“ _I suppose that’s true enough._ ” Grif stated at length, though judging by the frown looming over his features it seemed as if he was about to ask more.

Thankfully (in Simmons’ opinion), before the orange-wearing mech pilot could speak up, a new comm channel opened up.  Of course, Simmons’ relief was short lived when he saw that it was a terrifyingly-as-always-serious Carolina on the display.

“ _We’re approaching the colony now._ ” The half-Veroni’s voice informed them, “ _Be ready for anything._ ”

*****

Standing before Kimball in her office along with Church wasn’t exactly the start of this particular day that Antoine Bitters had been expecting.  It also wasn’t something that he wanted any day of the year to begin with, if he was being honest with himself.  It sort of sucked.  A fucking lot.

Then again, getting into a fight with some of his fellow soldiers wasn’t how he wanted to start the day either.  Yep, this day was just full of _awesome_ starts.  He sighed, wanting nothing more than to just get this over and done with.

“So, Lieutenant Bitters,” Kimball began at length, steepling her fingers together, “Do you care to explain what happened?”

The young Arenian with multi-colored hair huffed before looking anywhere but at his two superiors, “Don’t want to talk about it.”

From where he was standing by Kimball’s desk, Church snorted, “Yeah, well, I’d rather not be dealing with this bullshit either, but sometimes you have to deal with shit you don’t want to.” He informed the lieutenant testily, “So fucking spill it already!”

Bitters sighed, still not making direct eye contact with either Kimball or Church, “The others…” He finally stated, frowning, “They were harassing someone.”

“This _someone_ wouldn’t happen to be Lieutenant Matthews, would it?” The Elvari woman inquired, dark eyes narrowed in understanding.

Bitters looked up at her, surprised, “H—how did you…?” He began, wondering if they had surveillance equipment he didn’t know about hidden all around Chorus.  _Paranoid fucks_.

The Chorus leader smiled slightly, “It was just a hunch.  Albeit, one brought on by the fact that a certain yellow-trimmed lieutenant has been waiting outside of this office for several minutes now.”

Bitters was shocked by the news, glancing over at the door before sighing and muttering out a further explanation of what had happened: “They’d been trying to figure out how to prank Matthews using training equipment.”

Kimball sighed, “I will deal with them, Lieutenant Bitters.  But, there are protocols you need to follow instead of dealing with such matters on your own.”

Bitters stood waiting, knowing that he wasn’t getting off _that_ easy.  He tried to school his face back to its usual angry scowl.  Might as well stick with what he knew.

“I’ll give you a warning this time, as well as a round of extra duties.” Kimball finally told him, as if realizing that he was likely to slack off on any more than just one round of extra duties, “You’re dismissed.”

Church and Kimball went back to their datapads as if Bitters was no longer in the room.

The orange-trimmed lieutenant knew that was his cue to get the hell of there, so he wasted no time in making his escape.  Bitters headed outside, surprised to find that, sure enough, Matthews was in fact waiting in the hallway for him.

The young Elvari jumped a bit at the sound of the office door closing behind Bitters, “H—how did things go?” He asked nervously, playing with his fingers.

Bitters watched the auburn-haired lieutenant do that weird-as-fuck nervous habit of his for a moment before remembering that he’d been asked a question.

“Fine.” Bitters reluctantly informed him, “Though I have extra duties now.” As he saw Matthews visibly relax, the dark-skinned man couldn’t help but comment, “You’re an idiot for waiting out here like this.”

A sudden spark of defiance lit up Matthews’ face, “B—but you were only there because of me, and—!“

Bitters sighed, “Just forget about it, okay?” He said, waving dismissively as he began walking off.

Matthews looked taken aback for a second before he ran after the Arenian, “How about I help with your extra duties?” He asked, red-faced as he nervously looked at the ground through his glasses, “To—to make it up to you.”

Bitters regarded Matthews carefully for a moment before smirking down at the auburn-haired young man, “You’re on.” He stated and, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Bitters was secretly glad for the company.

*****

The colony was on a planet called Trocadero.  In a way, it reminded Grif _a lot_ of Rat’s Nest.  Especially in that there was a whole lot of nothing around the settlement proper, which was a small one set up with scientific devices all around it and rural-type dwellings that appeared to have been hastily built.

There was one exception though: an incredibly large facility spotted on the very outskirts of the colony.  Grif figured _that_ was probably where most of the actual colony work was done.

All around in the rocky landscape were sad, half-demolished structures crumbling into the air.  They appeared to be much, much older than the more recent ramshackle research colony was.

“ _Huh._ ” Frank “Doc” DuFresne stated over the comm channel from where he was flying in Pink with Donut, “ _I think those might be ancient Elvari ruins._ ”

The Elvari medic was brought along just in case medical attention was needed on the trip, though Grif would have felt better had it been Doctor Emily Grey who had come along with them for that reason instead. At least the Veroni seemed to have an _actual_ medical degree even if she was scarily insane.  Doc just spouted nonsense about alternative natural health treatments like aloe vera and orange juice for gunshot wounds.

“ _You’re right, Doc!_ ” Franklin Delano Donut’s cheerful voice added a moment later, “ _But what made them decide to stand them so erect back then?_ ”

“ _Less talking, more landing._ ” Tex’s no-nonsense voice came through a second later, thankfully, although Grif did lament that it seemed like he might be forced to do actual work soon.

“Gracias por eso. Verdaderamente.”  _{“Thank you for that.  Truly.”}_

No one really paid attention to whatever it was that Lopez had said as they began the landing procedures for their mechs.  Sarge had insisted on bringing his Spanish-speaking robot along since Lopez was the best when it came to performing mech maintenance and, since no one spoke the robot’s language, it was best to just ignore him.  Or, that’s at least how Grif viewed it.  It was too much effort otherwise.

The second that Orange’s feet hit the ground, Grif was exiting the cockpit to feel some much needed open air on his tan skin.

Maroon had landed right next to his mech, so the chubby human nodded his dark-haired head in lazy greeting as Simmons poked his blue-freckled face out of its cockpit, “’Sup?”

Simmons just rolled his eyes at what the kiss-ass no doubt viewed as a far too casual and relaxed greeting, “We’re on a mission, remember?” The nerd reminded Grif for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, but things are pretty quiet at the moment.  I am all for taking advantage of that.” The orange-wearing pilot stated matter-of-factly.

Grif ignored what sounded like “ _Fat-ass._ ” mumbled under the redhead’s breath as he turned his apathetic gaze towards the other mission party members.  Their motely little crew were all beginning to exit the other mechs now.  Doc and Donut seemed to even be spotting one another as they stretched sore and cramped limbs from the journey, so Grif quickly moved his gaze away.

“Then, that’s when I told him “ _That’s what she said!_ ”  Bow-chicka-bow-wow!”  Tucker’s voice was still emanating from Teal’s cockpit, although Grif could make out his teal armor from the mech’s entrance.

…Poor Washington couldn’t seem to get out of Teal’s cockpit fast enough, his face turning incredibly red due to whatever conversation it was that the two had been having privately.  No doubt traveling with Lavernius Tucker for a long period of time in a cramped mech was a traumatic experience for the blond Strassian.

Lopez immediately walked away from Sarge the second that he exited the Warthog, the older Arenian staying close by his mech to pat its leg gratefully for the safe voyage.  Sarge was almost as fond of the red-colored machine as he was of the shotgun that he always carried.  Grif sarcastically wondered if Lopez got jealous.

Michael J. Caboose was chatting happily away with Freckles, the giant blue mech seemingly nodding his head at something that the younger blond Arenian said.  Grif honestly still wasn’t too used to the fact that Freckles seemed to be alive when the rest of their mechs weren’t nearly as sentient.

Sheila had stepped out of the Tank, head tilted upwards to gaze at the night sky and the towering ruins that peppered their view of it.  A second later Tex and Carolina both clambered out of Black together, nearly rubbing shoulders as they did so.  Both women were observing the scenery before them with careful eyes, notably avoiding direct eye contact with each other.

Given that this colony was built for scientific pursuits and other things that Grif found way too boring, but that nerds like Simmons would no doubt find fascinating, he was steadily losing any interest in this mission.

…Not that Grif had much interest in it to begin with.

That was, until his eyes caught onto something in the distance.  He knew what he spied right away too.  They were no doubt the telltale signs of Charon having been in the area: machines used for digging up large quantities of raw natural material along with armored transports.  However, they all appeared to have been abandoned some time ago.

“It seems as if Charon was interested in potential resources here.” Sheila surmised, her gaze having wandered over to the equipment as well, “Perhaps their lack of presence now means that they found whatever it was they were looking for.”

Sarge scoffed at the Veroni, “Or they found out that we were coming and pulled back to wait for reinforcements.”

Carolina stepped forward then, clearly viewing the current speculation to be useless, “We won’t be able to figure out what is going on until after we’ve talked to the colonists who placed the distress signal and investigate ourselves.”

“That is quite a good assessment based on the situation at hand, Agent Carolina.” An unnervingly calm and unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind them, “I am impressed.”

Tex, Washington, and Carolina all stiffened at the sound of the stranger’s voice, as though it were somehow familiar to them.

Grif turned around in a curious-but-lazy fashion.

He was surprised to find a helmeted man, who had no doubt come from the direction of the colony, standing there observing the group.  How the hell had he snuck up on all of them?  Was he some kind of space ninja?

“My name is Aiden Price.” The newcomer introduced himself with a slight bow, “I am the leader of the colony here.  I am also the one who requested Chorus’ aid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second Story Arc for _Shiny Things_ , called “(Always) A Trap,” is off and running with the introduction of Price into the mix! I think that probably can’t be good for anyone, haha. XD
> 
> Anyways, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and are curious to find out what will happen next in the story!
> 
> Thank you very much for taking the time to read this. :D 


	11. (Always) A Trap {Part Two}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Aiden Price smiled eerily at the group from Chorus, the expression plastered on his face in the same manner that had so often caused David Washington to shudder involuntarily when he had been with Freelancer.

Come to think of it, Price had smiled like that on the day of the mission that had nearly torn Washington apart…

The Strassian couldn’t help but shudder again, the motion not lost on Lavernius Tucker.  The dark-skinned man frowned considerably when he noticed that the former Freelancer was out of sorts.  But, just as Tucker was about to reach out and touch Washington’s shoulder to gain his attention and most likely ask if he was all right, Price spoke up once more.

“I’m here to welcome you to Trocadero.” Price stated calmly and with a slight bow, “Agents Carolina, Washington, and Tex,” he greeted not a moment later, “It has been awhile.”

“Not nearly long enough.” Tex growled under her breath, and the blond-haired Strassian couldn’t help but agree with the Veroni’s sentiment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Washington noticed the other mech pilots and their partners for the current mission who hadn’t been addressed just then all glance at one another questioningly.

It wasn’t abnormal for Simmons to be full of anxiety, but for the others to be concerned?  Well, that showcased just how surreal the whole damn situation had become.

Even though the Veroni wasn’t there, Washington swore that he could almost hear Church mutter “ _More Freelancer bullshit!_ ” under everyone’s curious gazes.

“Hold up.” Tucker turned to Washington in particular, getting the Strassian to focus on the here-and-now, “You know him?”

Washington wouldn’t meet Tucker’s eyes then, causing the dark-skinned half-human’s frown to deepen.  He didn’t want to address his past at the moment.  He didn’t know how to explain that to make the others understand it though.

Luckily, the pilot for Teal had asked his question along the same time that Sarge spoke up, “How in Sam Hill do you know our compatriots here, son?”

“Oh, we used to work together.  It’s not really a secret.” Price answered the older Arenian’s question quite succinctly.

Carolina, no doubt about as eager to stroll down memory lane as Washington was just then, stepped forward.  Her entire body language had turned completely stiff.

“What exactly are you doing here, Counselor?” She asked with a completely professional and detached air, a true soldier’s etiquette about her demeanor that was almost highlighted by her glowing Veroni facial markings.

“Counselor?” Doc noted, though everyone around the purple-wearing Elvari ignored his inquiry to see how things played out between Carolina and Price.

“Peace, Agent Carolina.” Price stated instead of addressing Doc’s question, “We were all used by the Project, were we not?”  His steady gaze rested entirely on the three former Freelancers in their midst, “Some of us more than others, perhaps.” He finally noted.

Before any of them could respond to that line of reasoning, Price carried on, “I am merely trying to create a new, more ethical name for myself at this research colony.” He explained, “Is that so wrong?”

The three former Freelancers glanced at one another then, both Washington and Tex shrugging their shoulders at the same time to Carolina’s unasked question.

“I suppose not,” Carolina finally stated, though from her frown it was apparent that she was going to most likely be contacting Kimball and Church over this new development the second that she had the chance to do so, “And there _is_ an issue with Charon on this planet, correct?”

Price nodded, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where we’ve been having the…” he paused, Washington noting that Price seemed to be deliberately searching for the right words to describe the situation, “ _Added_ difficulties.”

As their group started walking, the Counselor glanced around at the Chorus crew with barely concealed amusement in his brown eyes, “I must say, your new mech group is certainly a colorful one.”

Tex snorted, but there was an odd note of fondness in her voice when she spoke, “You don’t know the half of it.”

*****

Charles Palomo found Katie Jensen in the Chorus training hall, an assortment of mechanical pieces and tools lying all around her on the floor.

“Hey,” Palomo greeted as casually as he could before sitting on the ground next to the brunette, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, hi!” Katie Jensen wiped some grease absentmindedly on her forehead with a motion of her hand, “I’m just doing some repairs that Captain Simmons left for me while he was away on this new mission.”

Palomo nodded his dark-haired head in understanding, as that often seemed to be the routine whenever the captains left, “You two are pretty close.” He noted, trying to make for what Captain Tucker referred to as “ _small talk_.”

( _“Trust me, dude, chicks dig it!  Even an idiot like you can’t screw it up!” Tucker had told him with a lot of authority before he had left with the others for Trocadero, although Palomo also vaguely recalled Church saying something along the lines of “As if you would fucking know.”  …The older soldiers sure were funny!_ )

Jensen, busy with delicately applying a screwdriver to a metal plating just then, simply nodded her head at Palomo’s statement regarding Simmons.

“Is that because of the mentor thing?” Palomo inquired, genuinely curious now.

The half-Veroni couldn’t help it, really!  He wanted to know as much about the Strassian girl as he could, so he figured asking about Strassian culture couldn’t hurt.

The girl nodded yet again, “I suppose, if they weren’t Strassian, one could equate mentoring to an adoptive family situation.” She elaborated for his sake.

Palomo frowned at the comparison, “So, that would make Captain Simmons your older brother or something?”

Jensen nodded once more before putting down her screwdriver, “Yes, and he’s more of one than my _real_ brothers.  That’s for sure.”

She very rarely ever talked about her actual family, though Palomo had picked up enough to know that it was a sore subject for her.  He wasn’t entirely quite sure _why_ , though he knew it had something to do with the “ _growing up_ ” phase in Strassian culture.

When it was apparent that Jensen wasn’t going to say more, Palomo cleared his throat to gain her attention again, “Can I help?” he tentatively asked her.

The tan-skinned girl with blue-tinged freckles blinked for a few moments before processing his words, a slight smile softening her features a few moments later, “Sure!”

For the next several hours, the two were lost in their own little world of tech and gadget repair.  As enraptured in their activity as they were, they barely even heard the two familiar voices calling out their names.

“Palomo!  Jensen!” Volleyball shouted once more from across the training hall, waving at them.

The blonde and Kaikaina Grif were with a new human recruit to Chorus, apparently showing him the ropes.

As Jensen and Palomo approached the newcomers, Kaikaina got started on the introductions in her own rather exuberant way, “This is Zachary Miller.  He’s one of the new gray guys!”

Miller smiled and nodded his black head of hair towards both Jensen and Palomo, “It’s a _real_ pleasure to be here.”

*****

The spot that Price showed them had been recently vacated, but Carolina could see the telltale signs of Charon’s lingering presence on Trocadero all the same.

It was pretty apparent that the pro-human group had only left fairly recently from the foot and vehicle tracks still fresh on the ground, as well as the discarded ammo cartridges and damaged equipment that Charon apparently viewed as too useless to take back with them.

“They often leave on supply runs before coming back for sustained raids.” Price explained to Carolina’s unasked question.

The redheaded half-Veroni nodded, noticing that Tex, Sarge, and Lopez were already starting to survey the scene.  A visibly troubled Washington, with a worried Tucker at his side, was glancing towards the direction that the tracks were heading towards.  The others were looking around as well with various levels of interest though some, such as Grif much to Simmons’ apparent chagrin, were merely trying to pass themselves off as appearing busy.

“What are they attacking this particular research colony for?” Sheila inquired mere moments later, Lopez having appeared at her side and nodding his head slightly as if to imply that the question was a good one.

Which it was, if Carolina was being honest.  She had just been about to ask something rather similar herself, but the Veroni had beaten her to it.

“This colony is home to various ancient Elvari ruins.” Price informed the group matter-of-factly, “That was the main reason as to why it was even established in the first place.

That was also no doubt why a half-Elvari such as himself was here, Carolina noted to herself.  The redheaded former Freelancer narrowed her green eyes at the Counselor’s words.

“To study them, you mean?” Simmons queried then, the Strassian drawn over to the conversation like a moth to a flame by his naturally inquisitive nature.

Price nodded, “Apparently, something in these ruins is supposed to augment an Elvari’s natural telepathic capabilities.”

This drew the attention of both Donut and Doc, the two resident Elvari in the Chorus group’s midst.  Both men even went _“Oh!”_ at the same time in the exact same excited high pitch.  Carolina could feel her recurring headache coming back with a vengeance.

“Which, naturally, a pro-human group like Charon wouldn’t be too keen on.” Washington surmised, staring at Price with a guarded look.

“So they attack the colony in the hopes of stealin’ or destroyin’ the research on the ruins.” Sarge finished for the blond, whistling almost appreciatively a second later, “That’s downright diabolical!”

Carolina frowned, noting that now there was even more that she would need to put into her report back to Kimball, “It would certainly fit their usual M.O.” She concurred.  After a moment of inner debate in the silence that followed, Carolina nodded her head slightly before speaking, “We can’t leave the colony defenseless after accepting their request for help, so it looks like we’ll be staying here for a while.”

There was an assortment of cheers and groans from the group at the order, and she could swear that she heard Donut whispering excitedly about _“sleepovers”_ to Caboose and Doc.

“Thank you, Agent Carolina.” Price inclined his head slightly, motioning towards the structures of the nearby colony, “I’ll be more than pleased to show you to your temporary lodgings.”

The half-Veroni gave a curt nod of her own in response, already running over in her mind just what she would be telling Kimball about the various ways this mission was currently progressing.

*****

“How did I get stuck with you as my roommate _again_?” Richard “Dick” Simmons couldn’t help but ask once more with an exasperated note in his whiny voice.

Dexter Grif shrugged indifferently, already lying down on his bed with his arms behind his head, “Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, Simmons.” Orange’s pilot informed him, “In fact, I think you should make the most of it and consider this a vacation.”

“A vacation.” Simmons snorted in disbelief, resisting the urge to nag Grif on proper mission protocols.

Though, inwardly, the redheaded Strassian supposed this temporary arrangement _could_ have been worse.  He could have been stuck with Donut.  Or Caboose.  Or Tucker, whose “ _sleeping naked_ ” exploits were legendary by now.  Simmons already felt a tad bit sorry for his mentor Washington on that front, given that he had experienced that particular habit of Tucker’s firsthand already.

Still, Simmons couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the chubby human’s rather flippant behavior, “You know we’re on a mission here, Grif.” He finally chastised his temporary roommate, “You shouldn’t goof off too much.”

“I know, I know.” Grif in turn rolled his eyes at Simmons and promptly got up from the bed he’d already made a mess of, “I’m going to go see what kind of food they have here.” He eyed Simmons almost hopefully, “Wanna come with?”

“Maybe later.” Simmons stared down at the tool kit from Maroon that he had started to go through once more, “I want to organize some things first.”

Grif scoffed, though his dark brown eyes seemed lit with amusement as he headed towards the door with a lazy wave over his shoulder in the redhead’s general direction, “Nerd.”

Simmons ignored the human to focus on arranging his tools in order of size once more, barely noticing when the door shut and he was left alone in the space.

_“Simmons.”_

A sudden chill went down Simmons’ spine at his _father’s_ voice filling the room, the tools dropping to the floor with a loud clang as he spun around sharply to look for the source.

…Only to be met with a still very much empty room, the fading light from the Trocadero sun casting shadows through the window.

The Strassian blinked and shook his head, wondering for the first time if maybe Grif wasn’t right about him needing to take it easy from time to time.  Then he realized he had just thought that _Grif was right_ , the realization of which made him want to run head first into a shame spiral.  Luckily the room lacked mirrors to punch.

Still, the whole thing was more than just a little bit unnerving.

Simmons gulped nervously before reaching down with shaking fingers to pick up the items that he had dropped, trying his hardest to ignore the growing sense of unease and outright _dread_ that the reminder of his father had left him with in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how late this chapter is. I’ve been feeling pretty sick recently, so it was a struggle writing it out. Still, I hope it was at least a bit enjoyable and that it got you curious enough to see what will happen next in this new story arc for _Shiny Things_!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this! :)


	12. (Always) A Trap {Part Three}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

“No, not there. I meant _there_.” Four Seven Niner’s voice cut through the air like a knife as the tan-skinned woman jabbed her finger towards the left hand corner of the air transport’s cargo bay expectantly, “Obviously.”

Matthews, anxious about the possibility of upsetting someone who held a higher rank, glanced over at John Elizabeth Andersmith for reassurance only to smile a little at the dark oil smudge that graced the older lieutenant’s forehead.

They had been helping with inventory for a few hours now and it seemed that, in the moment that the Arenian pilot had addressed her two helpers, Andersmith had wiped sweat from his brow.  Matthews at least felt some of his stress drain by being momentarily amused by the evidence of their hard work on the dark-haired Arenian’s person.

“Of course.” Andersmith stated without preamble to the pilot, looking towards Matthews seriously as his hands regripped his side of the crate, “Ready?”

Matthews’ own grip tightened and he nodded, “Of course, sir!”

Andersmith smiled fondly, “No need for formalities, Matthews.” He told him, “We’re the same rank, after all.”

The Elvari couldn’t help but blush at his habit towards seeing anyone older than him as a figure of authority, “R—right!”

Within moments, the two lieutenants had moved the crate to its new specified location.  Four Seven Niner examined their work with a perfunctory nod, “ _Much_ better this way.” She said more to herself than to either of them before adding loudly, “Thanks, you two.”

“Not a problem, ma’am!” Matthews couldn’t help but salute in what was obviously a force of habit by this point.

“It was our pleasure.” Andersmith stated before glancing around them questioningly, “Now, did you need assistance with anything else, or…?”

“Nah, that should do it for now.” Four Seven Niner informed them, glancing again at a datapad that she was using to keep track of inventory.

Matthews, though he was _more_ than happy to lend a helping hand where he could, couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.  After all, they had been here for the better part of the day.  He didn’t know about Andersmith, but Matthews felt like he could use some rest.  Possibly a shower too.

Four Seven Niner shot the younger man an amused look, “I _could_ always think of something else, you know.”

“Err…” Beneath his glasses, Matthews’ face turned a bright shade of red.

The brunette smirked, “ _Relax_ , kid.  That was a joke.”

The auburn-haired lieutenant deflated a little although he was still blushing in embarrassment, “I—I got that.” He mumbled before laughing awkwardly.

“Sure you did.” Her smirk only widened as Four Seven Niner’s brown-eyed gaze went down the open ramp of the transport to the spot in the hangar where the Chorus mechs were usually located.  Those spots were all empty now, thanks to the Trocadero mission.

“I hope Caboose is doing all right.” The tan-skinned woman mumbled under her breath, obviously not intending for it to carry in the hangar.

Ah, so she was worried about her surrogate brother.  That explained some of the unease Matthews had been feeling from the pilot while they had been working on the transport.  The Elvari had known that the two Arenians had become as close as real family in the short time that Caboose had been on Chorus.  He guessed it was a cultural thing, similar to the mentorships in Strassian society.

Thinking of Strassians, Matthews glanced over towards the empty spots where Orange and Maroon usually were, wondering if Captains Grif and Simmons were okay too.  In the short time that he had known them, Matthews had found himself doing a lot of chores for the two pilots.  Well, mostly for Grif.  Simmons usually berated the human for taking advantage of a subordinate, but Matthews didn’t mind helping superior officers.  He felt his eyes tear up at the idea that he was useful to the two at all.

“I am sure he is doing well!” Andersmith stated reassuringly to Four Seven Niner, pulling Matthews out of his thoughts, “Captain Caboose is a top-notch pilot, and Freckles is the best mech of our group.  Not to mention that the others are with him too.”

Matthews couldn’t help but smile and nod in agreement.  Leave it to Andersmith to know exactly what to say, especially when it concerned Caboose.

Four Seven Niner straightened her posture a bit, “I know, It’s just strange to not be flying everyone myself.”

Right.  Trocadero was close enough that they hadn’t needed the transport this time around.  Matthews imagined being grounded during missions was a foreign experience for the pilot.

The tan-skinned woman sighed and shook her head, “At any rate, that’s it for now.” She informed them, dismissively waving her hand, “Why don’t you guys go take a break or something?  I’ll finish up here.”

With that, Four Seven Niner headed towards the cockpit area, leaving the two males standing there awkwardly with nothing to do.  The yellow-trimmed armored lieutenant’s stomach broke the silence with a loud growl.  Matthews felt his face flush in embarrassment at the realization that he had forgotten to eat all day.

Thankfully, Andersmith turned to Matthews with his usual gentle smile, “Want to head to the mess hall?”

Matthews couldn’t help but smile back and nod in response, “Yes, sir!”

*****

The walk to the mess hall was rather uneventful, so both Matthews and Andersmith were able to get their much needed food in peace.  By the time the two lieutenants made their way over to their usual table, they discovered that five other members of their rookie group were already occupying it.  Volleyball, Kaikaina Grif, Katie Jensen, and Charles Palomo all waved them over

It took Matthews a moment to realize that the fifth person seated there now, regarding their approach with curiosity, was not Antoine Bitters.  Matthews was surprised at the little bit of disappointment he felt at the realization, although he quickly shook his bespectacled head to rid himself of the emotion.  The human stranger deserved a nice welcome even if he wasn’t Bitters.

The dark-haired man smiled in way of greeting as Jensen spoke up to make introductions, “Guys, this is Lieutenant Zachary Miller.” She stated in friendly enthusiasm, “Miller, these are Lieutenants Matthews and Andersmith.”

“Ah, you must be the new recruit I’d heard about!” Andersmith said jovially to Miller as he and Matthews sat down, “It’s nice to finally meet.”

“Likewise.” Miller smiled back easily enough in a gesture clearly meant to put them at ease.

Following the introduction, the conversation at the mess hall table drifted back to the usual topics.  Every so often as he was eating his food though, Matthews felt eyes upon him.  He glanced up and Miller would smile slightly before turning his attention back to whoever was currently talking.

Matthews felt his face redden.  It was a little unnerving, to say the least.  He wasn’t used to being scrutinized unless it was by someone of a higher rank.  The Elvari wasn’t quite sure what to make of the attention.

Eventually, everyone’s meals were finished and they all stood to put their trays away, but Miller reached out and grabbed Matthews’ arm before he could do so himself.

“Matthews, right?” The steel-armored newcomer asked in a friendly tone.

Matthews nodded his head, face heating up at the sudden physical contact as his eyes wandered towards the hand on his arm.  Now that Miller had his attention, he dropped Matthews’ arm but lingered closely in proximity.

“I was hoping that maybe you’d be willing to show me around, if you have the time?” The human recruit asked hopefully, eyes set upon Matthews.

Before Matthews could respond, a food tray slammed down heavily onto the table behind him.  The loud sound caused the Elvari to jump.  He felt a familiar, angry presence nearby and a familiar orange-trimmed armor out of the corner of his eye.

Matthews glanced towards the armor to find Bitters standing next to him.  The Arenian with multi-colored hair was fixing Miller with a pointed glare.

“Unfortunately for you, Matthews already has plans to do something with me.” Bitters stated without preamble to the human, “But Andersmith _loves_ giving tours.”

Matthews blinked in surprise, shocked that Bitters even _remembered_ their plans, let alone that the dark-skinned lieutenant now seemed to _want_ to go with him.  Bitters and Miller stared at one another for an uncomfortable moment before that same easy smile crossed over the brown-haired human’s face once more.

“Is that so?” Miller glanced over at Matthews, winking, “Guess I’ll take a rain check then.”

Bitters’ glare only intensified at the new recruit’s actions, “Guess so.”

With a wave, Miller walked away to rejoin the other lieutenants, leaving Matthews standing by the mess hall table with his angry-for-no-reason-that-he-could-see friend.  “Wh—what was that for?” He finally demanded when Bitters sat down at the table.

Bitters said nothing in response.  Instead, the Arenian ate his food as if the incident with Miller had never even happened.  Matthews sighed before grabbing his tray in order to put it away, the Elvari unsure of where this sudden feeling of anger was coming from.

*****

Even as the door to the his temporary living quarters on Trocadero closed behind him, Lavernius Tucker could _still_ hear the faint noise of Michael J. Caboose talking excitedly about “ _sleepovers_ ” and “ _How much fun we are going to have!_ ”

The teal-armored mech pilot couldn’t help but smile and shake his head, rather glad that he wasn’t Sarge or Lopez since they would be bunking with the younger Arenian tonight.  Truth be told, it wasn’t like his roommate situation was much better currently.

After all, he knew that David Washington could have a stick up his ass at the best of times.  Right now, given whatever the fuck that “ _reunion_ ” was with that Price guy?  Well, that certainly didn’t count as “ _the best_ ” of anything.

Speaking of his roomie, Tucker cast a glance at his own bunkmate.  The blond-haired Strassian was currently sitting on his bed and staring at the wall with a hardened expression, almost as if the wall had murdered his entire family.  The dark-skinned man couldn’t help but let out a tired sigh that went completely unnoticed.

So, it was obviously up to Tucker to either do something, or let Washington continue to mope.  …A skill that Tucker already knew Washington excelled at.

The half-Strassian let out a tired sigh yet again, trying to be as dramatic as possible in order to gain the older man’s attention.  Of course, given how fucking stubborn and stuck in his own head Washington was, it didn’t work.

“Hey, dude, do you mind if I ask you something?” Tucker asked after a few minutes of contemplation.

Washington blinked gray eyes, turning his attention away from the wall to regard the dark-skinned man questioningly: “If it’s about the clothing policy I mentioned before—yes, they _are_ mandatory in this sleeping arrangement.”

Of course he’d assume that Tucker would complain about that.  _Again_.  Fucking killjoy.

Tucker rolled his eyes, “Fuck you, and it wasn’t going to be about that.”

“It wasn’t?” Here, Washington seemed rather surprised, a blond eyebrow raised in question, “That’s surprisingly out of character.”

Tucker gave him the finger, “No, it’s about that Price guy.  And, again, fuck you, dude.”

“Oh.” Washington’s expression fell from mildly amused to downtrodden in a matter of seconds, and it almost seemed as if his blue Strassian freckles dulled for a second.

Given the blond’s reaction, Tucker was even more curious.  “It was obvious that all of you knew him already.” He started without preamble, “From that Freelancer program or whatever?”

Washington frowned, but nodded his head briefly, “That’s right.” He stated, cautiously, as if he was hesitant to reveal too much.

Tucker picked up on the sudden tension and his contemplative frown deepened, “I don’t know a lot about what happened then, but I take it that it was pretty fucked up?”

The Strassian sighed, “That’s one way to put it, yes.”

Damn.  This dude could keep secrets.  Tucker knew given Washington’s body language that now wasn’t a good time to pry further.  Instead, he simply waited for the other man to continue.

Washington let out a deep breath, “Freelancer is… _was_ a complicated subject, Tucker.” He told him at length, “And Price happened to play a large role in it.”

There was _a lot_ to the story that Tucker knew Washington probably wasn’t going to tell him.  He didn’t want to be the pushy asshole who tried forcing uncomfortable or painful shit to the surface.  So, Tucker instead forced an understanding smile onto his own face, “I bet it fucking sucked seeing him again, huh?”

Washington nodded in quiet agreement, a tired sort-of smile crossing over his face at Tucker’s comment.  An awkward silence settled over the room.  Tucker was debating on how to break it when, suddenly, Washington stood up and headed towards the door.

“I think I’ll go patrol the ruins just to get a lay of the land.” The former Freelancer remarked, “Maybe find some more clues as to what exactly Charon is after here.”

Tucker blinked, “Dude, don’t you _ever_ rest?”

“Tucker…”

Tucker cut off whatever chastisement Washington was no doubt about to say in regards to his own work ethic with a wave of his hand. “I should probably contact Junior before it gets too late.” He said, “Let him know we got here okay and shit.”  After all, the half-human knew his son worried when he was away on missions.  He glanced over at Washington with a grin, “I’ll be sure to let him know that you say hello too.”

Washington smiled gratefully before he left the room.

*****

“That is where things currently stand on our end.” Carolina said as she concluded her report to Chorus, staring at the message terminal in front of her.

Vanessa Kimball nodded, a contemplative look on her face as she regarded the cyan-armored woman, _“And how are you handling Price’s involvement?”_

Of course the Chorus leader would ask.  After all, Kimball knew a bit about Project Freelancer from some of her conversations with Carolina and the others.  Naturally, that had included a fair bit of information on Aiden Price too.

Carolina sighed, “It is unnerving, seeing him again.” She admitted to the Elvari, “But I suppose we will have to give him the benefit of the doubt for the moment.”

After all, he had been right in saying that they had all been used by Project Freelancer.  The half-Veroni narrowed her green eyes in contemplation.  She would just have remain more cautious around him in general.

_“Not that you aren’t always cautious.  Right, sis?”_ She could actually hear her brother Church mock her in her head.

Carolina shook her red-haired head in an attempt to focus on the conversation at hand, leaning back in her chair.

_“I’d stay on alert, at any rate.”_ Kimball advised with an amused look in her dark-colored eyes, _“Not that I really need to tell you of all people to do that.”_

“Agreed.” Carolina smiled thinly, “How are things on Chorus?”

_“They are going rather well, all things considered.”_

“I hope Church isn’t being too much of a handful.” She couldn’t help but joke, imagining her brother going off on one of his ranting tirades while she was away.

The dark-skinned woman smirked, _“If you can handle him, I can.”_

“Want to place a bet on that?” Carolina smirked right back at her.

Kimball looked ready to respond with another joking retort when Carolina heard the sound of rustling movement behind her.

“Kimball, I have to get going.” She informed the other woman, “I will message you again as scheduled.”

A brief flicker of disappointment crossed over Kimball’s face, but she nodded her head a second later, _“Understood.  Be careful, Carolina.”_

Carolina nodded and closed out the screen, eyes narrowing as she tensed with the recognizable presence in the room.  How the fuck was this even possible?  He should be dead!

_“…Agent Carolina.”_

She stiffened as the all-too familiar voice of the Director addressed her.  The redhead spun around to meet a piercing, indifferent gaze.

_“What are you doing, wasting your time here?”_ He demanded, as professional and cold to her as ever.

Carolina’s throat was dry, and she found couldn’t speak.  What the hell was going on?

_“Funny.  Here I was wondering the same thing.”_

Turning around again, the former Freelancer saw York resting with his arms across his chest against the message terminal that she had just turned off.  His one good eye was glued on her and she couldn’t look away from his stare.

_“Hey, Carolina.”_

Carolina wasn’t sure _what_ to think or do at this point.  Often she found herself haunted by ghosts of the past, but they didn’t usually feel so _real_.  She blinked and suddenly York was gone.

“…Are you all right?”

Carolina started at Sheila’s worried voice, turning to find the petite Veroni woman standing in the doorway of their shared room.  All traces of the Director had vanished from their quarters as well.

The half-human shook her head, “I’m…I’m fine.” She assured Sheila, “I think I just need some air.”

With that, Carolina quickly moved past Sheila, not daring to even take a quick glance back into the room as she left it.  Ghosts were better left unseen.

*****

“I mean, _everyone_ knows what you mean by _scented bath salts_ , you know?” Franklin Delano Donut said emphatically to his teammates over his now empty tray of food.

Frank “Doc” DuFresne nodded his brown-haired head enthusiastically in response to the pink-wearing Elvari, “Of course!”

Dexter Grif raised a dark-haired eyebrow at the topic of conversation that he was currently being exposed to while sitting in the mess hall of their temporary living quarters on Trocadero, though he figured that by staying silent he could _maybe_ avoid getting dragged into it a little longer.

First, the two Elvari had been discussing room décor, and somehow the talk had turned inexplicably to bath salts?  Grif really wasn’t sure what logic that followed.  Then again, with Donut and Doc there wasn’t much logic to begin with.

Donut turned the orange-armored mech pilot’s way just then with a thoughtful look in his brown eyes.  Coming from Pink’s pilot, that glance could only mean trouble.

Fortunately for the heavy-set human, that particular moment was when Washington strode into the mess hall.  He spotted the group easily given that they were the only people there.  Washington walked over to the table the trio were sitting at with an air of purpose that Grif had learned to ignore by this point.

“I’m going to go and investigate some of the ruins.” The blond Strassian stated without preamble, “Any volunteers?”

And _here_ was the point of discussion that Grif had learned to tune out.  Don’t say anything and hopefully your apathetic laziness will pay off.  Grif kept his head lowered as both Doc and Donut stood up from their seats excitedly.

“Oh, oh!  I’d love to go!” Donut exclaimed to the former Freelancer, waving his arms as if the older man had somehow missed him in his bright pink armor.

“A chance to explore some ancient Elvari ruins sounds exciting!” Doc added in, nodding his head as if he was agreeing to attend a party instead of going on a boring and possibly dangerous mission.

“Yeah, and we’ll show those Charon guys the best way to get head!” Donut joyfully said in a singsong tone.

“…You mean “ _ahead_ ,” right?” Doc asked Donut a second later.

“Sure, that too!” Donut smiled and gestured towards the door, “So, lead the way, Agent Washington!  I’ll take the rear!”

As the two Elvari eagerly put away their food trays, Washington had a look on his face that clearly showed his dawning realization about what a terrible mistake he had just made.

Grif could only smirk in response, shooting the former Freelancer a _“too late”_ look, “Sucks to be you, dude.”

The chubby human ate happily as Doc and Donut followed Washington outside, ignoring the fading talks of “ _adventure_ ” and “ _mission_.”

Grif’s thoughts briefly went back to Chorus.  He wondered what kind of trouble Kai was getting herself into there when Richard “Dick” Simmons entered the mess hall and took a seat across from him.

Grif figured that something was up since Simmons didn’t make any _“fat-ass”_ remarks about him having two trays piled high with food on them, and the looming pained expression on Simmons’ face when he glanced up a second later confirmed that.

Grif covered up the momentary frown that found its way across his own features just then at the sight, smirking instead, “Something bothering you, Simmons?  Was your tool kit messed up?”

Simmons shook his head, “No, I think I’m just tired or something.” He admitted a few seconds later, “I kept thinking I was hearing things.”

Grif couldn’t help but shake his head in a chastising manner at the redhead’s remark, “What have I told you about the importance of rest, Simmons?” He joked only partially before pushing the other tray ( _that he_ may _have been saving for the nerd, okay?_ ) towards the Strassian, “And food too, for that matter.”  When Simmons looked up at Grif questioningly, his smirk only widened, “Trust me, a full stomach and a good nap will do you wonders.”

Simmons frowned at the suggestion, “B—but…!”

“If it makes you feel better, we’ll go check on the mechs before resting.  But _only_ after we finish eating.” Grif stipulated.

Simmons looked to be so touched by the concern that Grif feared he would make the whole thing awkward, but fortunately he simply smiled through teary green-colored eyes.

The pilot of Maroon then began shoveling food into his mouth to cover up his tearing eyes, missing the fond smile that ended up crossing over Grif’s features at the sight before the human dug back into his third plate of food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by playing _Mass Effect: Andromeda_ (good game despite its flaws, I’m having fun with it whenever I get the chance to play!), and excitement over Season 15 starting soon! :)
> 
> Also, in celebration of the new season, I’m planning a brand-new story too because I evidently hate myself. XD So, I hope that you will look forward to that one getting its first part posted next week! :D
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :)


	13. (Always) A Trap {Part Four}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

“Okay,” Dexter Grif’s voice spoke into Trocadero’s cool night air as he and Richard “Dick” Simmons exited the mess hall, “I can safely say that the food on Chorus is _way_ fucking better.”

Simmons couldn’t help but roll green eyes at the orange-armored mech pilot’s comment, “And yet you _still_ ate five platefuls, fat-ass.” He reminded the chubby human.

Grif tsked at Simmons as if the redhead was a moron, “One has to be prepared to endure hardships, Simmons.” He stated pseudo-sagely.

“This is a small research colony with limited resources, jackass!  Of course their food isn’t going to be as varied as it is back on Chorus!” The Strassian shot back, blue-tinted freckles alighted with a reddish hue due to his annoyance.

“Even still…” Grif began, no doubt trailing off into a tangent from the quality of colony food to a philosophical query about the nature of all things that would probably have even brilliant minds shaking their heads in disbelief.  Unfortunately, Orange’s pilot had a gift that was wasted on his lazy nature.

But, Simmons was no longer paying attention to whatever it was that Grif was going to say next.  His brain wandered off, the sound of the human’s voice fading into the background like the sound of raindrops on a stormy day.

_No matter how much he wanted to do so, Simmons couldn’t struggle.  He could barely move so much as a centimeter.  The redhead glanced around the cushioned room that had served as his prison for who knows how long.  A person’s back was currently facing him near the doorway, and Simmons’ eyes lingered on the all-too familiar figure._

_The man was_ humming _as he prepared the tray of food._

_Simmons tried squirming on the pillows he was propped up with.  He was uncomfortable like always, but he especially didn’t like the feel of the cool air on his exposed chest due to the shirt that the man had already unbuttoned because Simmons was such a “sloppy eater.”_

_Still, every time Simmons attempted to move, a dizziness washed over him and he’d remain immobile.  Trapped in his own body._

_The man was older, a fellow Strassian who had never bothered having the decency of even giving Simmons his name.  The unnamed man turned around and smiled at Simmons with a tray of soft foods, liquid, and soup ready to go._

_Simmons grimaced inwardly at the sight of the tray, imagining that all of the food was laced with the tevkask fruit.  He was glad it wasn’t a shot this time, or the I.V. that the man had used when he had been gone for a few days._

_“You’re coming along nicely, Simmons.” The man stated in that revoltingly conversational tone, as if he_ wasn’t _holding Simmons here against his will due to his father’s wishes, “A few more weeks, and we can try.”_

_Simmons wanted to cry at the words, and he wanted to vomit at their meaning.  The urge to do both all at once was suddenly overwhelming, but again he couldn’t move.  Damn tevkask._

_The man set the tray down on a table next to Simmons’ bedside, and patted Simmons’ rounded stomach as he often did before his touch came to linger uncomfortably on the younger Strassian’s shoulder._

_“Now be a good boy and eat without complaint, all right?”_

“…” Grif stared at Simmons, his long waxing poetic lazy rant all but forgotten.  Likewise, the redheaded Strassian seemed to be staring into space with a suddenly wide-eyed look on his face, as if he wasn’t standing right there with Grif.

Tentatively, the orange-wearing human reached over to put a hand on Simmons’ shoulder, “Hey, Simmons, you all right or…?” His question lingered, unsure of how he wanted to finish it.

Just as Grif’s fingertips were about to brush the fabric on Simmons’ shoulder, Maroon’s pilot suddenly recoiled as if the expectant touch would _burn_.  The reaction shocked both men, and Grif quickly lowered his hand.

It took a few more minutes for Simmons to collect himself, to _know_ that he was on Trocadero and not back at that awful, terrible place.  When he looked over at Grif, he was taken aback by the sudden look of concern in the tanned human’s dark eyes.

“S—sorry.” Simmons finally managed to weakly get out, smiling hesitatingly though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I keep…my mind keeps going somewhere else.”

“It’s no big deal.” Grif quickly told him, though a frown was still on his face, “That tends to happen when you work too hard and don’t get enough sleep.  Maybe you should take that as a sign to chill.”

Simmons snorted, “As—as if you’d know.”

“That’s why I always take things one step at a time, Simmons.”

Simmons sighed, “I guess.” He shakily agreed, nodding his red-haired head carefully as if the action would rattle his thoughts too much.

The two men continued on their way to their temporary shared room, trying to put the odd incident from both of their minds.  A little rest, and hopefully everything would be okay.

*****

“So, how are things going on Chorus?” Tex asked disinterestedly over her shoulder at the communication console on Black as she continued her routine maintenance on the mech.  Just a few more adjustments, and she’d head into the colony proper to reunite with the others.

Leonard Church snorted, “ _Oh, they’re fucking peachy._ ” He informed her with an exasperated edge to his voice, “ _I swear, everyone on this goddamned planet has way too much fucking time on their hands!  They want nothing more than to drag me into their bullshit._ ”

The blond-haired woman smirked at the Veroni’s tone, the slightly glowing black lines on her face becoming more prominent in the process as she turned to actually see Church through the console, “Oh, come on.  You know you love it.”

The cobalt-wearing man rolled blue eyes at her teasing, “ _Never mind that._ ” Church stated without preamble, “ _How long do you expect things to go on your end?_ ”

Tex frowned in thought, wiping a grease-stained hand across her forehead, “I’m not sure.” She admitted after a few seconds of silence before turning back to her maintenance on Black, “Something about this place feels _off_ even though this is a rather routine mission.  Besides Price’s involvement, that is.”

There was a slight pause on Church’s end of the conversation as he considered her admission just then, “ _I’d be fucking cautious around that guy still._ ” He advised at length, “ _You’ve always had good hunches, Tex.  You just never listen to them._ ”

Tex couldn’t help but smirk at him again as she glanced over her shoulder, “Like I need you to tell me that.” She teased.

“ _I know, I know._ ” He sighed before smirking conspiratorially back at her himself, “ _Just be sure to rely on your good old Texas instincts._ ”

“I will.” The blonde assured Church before she reached over and turned off the communication terminal, not bothering with a formal signing off.  That wasn’t her style.

Black was once again in pristine condition, so the former Freelancer headed back from the mechs towards the area of Trocadero where everyone from the Chorus traveling party was being placed for the night.

_“…Good old Texas instincts, huh?_ ” An oddly familiar voice suddenly mocked her from behind.

Tex spun around, fists clenched at her sides. The Veroni was shocked to see _herself_ standing where the voice had come from.  This “Tex” was decked out in her full assortment of black armor, save for her helmet, just like she was.  It was very much akin to standing in front of a mirror.

“ _Now, which Texas do you think Church meant when he said that?_ ” Tex’s replica asked, a smirk forming on her face.

*****

David Washington, Frank “Doc” DuFresne and Franklin Delano Donut arrived at the entrance to one of Trocadero’s Elvari ruins with very little trouble.

Washington supposed he could understand why that was.  After all, their investigation was happening later at night than he’d originally intended.  The few research colonists that they actually ran into were just about to call it a day and had been preparing for rest themselves.

If any of them thought it odd that two of the mech pilots and their resident medic weren’t doing the same, they chose not to comment on it and continued on with business as usual.  Sometimes other people’s laziness could be a godsend, not that he’d ever tell Grif that.

“Well, here we are!” Donut stated without preamble, gesturing widely at the huge, open doorway that stood before them, “And it’s all prepped and ready for us to go ahead!”

…Washington was seriously starting to miss Tucker.  He couldn’t help the fond smile that spread upon his lips at the thought of the teal-wearing, younger man who was no doubt just now finishing up his communication with his son back on Chorus.  Donut and Doc had a level of enthusiasm that bordered on jarring.  The Strassian found that he needed a buffer, for his own sanity’s sake.

“We should still be careful though, right?” Doc asked a second later, “There’s no telling what we’ll find in here.”

“Oh, Doc, we’ll be fine!” Donut hurried to reassure the brown-haired Elvari, “When it comes to looking in holes, I’m your man!”

…Washington was _definitely_ missing Tucker at this point.  He could almost hear the half-Strassian’s “ _Bow-chicka-bow-wow!_ ” in the background.

“Let’s just…get started, all right?” he said quickly before the conversation could continue.

“You’re the boss, Washington!” Donut happily replied, Doc nodding his head in agreement.

The three made their way inside the stone structure, the dim light from the lighting panels the colonists must have set up casting shadows along the walls.

“Oh, nice atmosphere!” Donut intoned from behind Washington, “Though some added décor would be nice.”

It was true.  The hallways were quite sparse save for the few pieces of research equipment that had been left behind by the colonists.  While the whole area had an air around it that screamed “ _ancient_ ,” it was hard to really envision _what_ the ruins had in fact been used for.

Washington frowned, noting that there certainly didn’t seem to be anything here to explain Charon’s current interest in the place.

There was a point a little further inside the corridor where the path branched off into two different pathways.  Washington pointed to the right side one, which seemed narrower, “I’ll keep looking this way.” He informed the two Elvari with him, “Why don’t you both head down the left path?”

Doc nodded his brown-haired head, “Sounds like a plan.”

Donut agreed, “We’ll come find you if our way turns out to be a dud!”

With that, the two men turned and began walking down the left path, happily chatting away with one another as if they _weren’t_ in the middle of a mission right now.

Washington sighed, shook his head with a tired sort-of smile on his face, and continued down the right-side path.

The corridor and any attached rooms he came across were just as empty as the previous ones had been.  Washington stopped in the doorway of one, peering inside and frowning.

Maybe he was going about this this wrong way, now that he thought about.  Perhaps it would be wiser to ask Price or one of the other colonists for a detailed list of what exactly they had found or were still searching for here instead of blindly stumbling around in the dark.

Footsteps coming from behind the blond caused him to turn, though the all-too familiar sight of white armor and a domed helmet suddenly entering his vision made his blood run cold.

Maine, no, the _Meta_ was just a few meters away from him.  His Brute Shot was pointed directly at Washington’s chest.

But, that was impossible, wasn’t it?  He’d _seen_ the Meta die!  It had cost him Steel too.  What the hell was going on?

“Wha—what are you…?”

But, the Meta didn’t respond to his former Freelancer teammate’s stammering, instead choosing to attack Washington using the Brute Shot.  Washington barely dodged the assault, the ground exploding in dust and debris behind him.

It seemed like the Strassian had no choice.  Washington drew his own weapon, aimed, and fired…

“ _Donut_!”

Doc’s scream just then from a bit of ways down the corridor was fearful and primal as, instead of it being the _Meta_ who fell to the ground, it was a pink-armored body.

*****

Normally, sleep came easily enough to Dexter Grif.  His head would hit a pillow and he’d be out like a light before he knew it.  It was a gift.

…But, such was not the case this time.  This time, Grif’s dreams were causing him to thrash around in his sheets.  The chubby human seemed to be constantly _burning_ in a feverish state that left him sweating on his bed in their temporary mission quarters.

_He was piloting Orange through a losing battle with Charon’s forces, several sights locked on him all at once…_

_Then he was again a young boy fighting to survive in Rat’s Nest, his parents having just ditched him and Kai to the mercy of the money lenders.  They were surrounded by a group who wouldn’t think twice about harming frightened, abandoned children._

“G—Grif?” Someone was distantly calling his name, from far away and not within his dreamscape.

_One of the guys reached for Kai with fists clenched.  The little girl shrieked and pulled back in fear.  Grif gripped_ something _hard, metallic, and cold as a hand closed around his own shoulder rather violently just then.  He thrust out with the unseen object in self-defense…_

Then he was back in Trocadero only to hear a choked-back _gurgle_ as Grif’s dark eyes opened and _Simmons_ , who had been standing over him, collapsed to the ground in a puddle of blood.

Grif was, for some reason that totally and inexplicably escaped his mind given where he was, gripping a bloodstained knife in his fingers.

He realized with a dawning sense of horror that he must have stabbed Simmons in the abdomen when the other man had tried waking him up from his nightmare.

“ _Simmons_!”

Grif screamed out the Strassian’s name, heart thundering loudly in his ears, terrified and unsure of what to do to help Maroon’s pilot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh! Something tells me this planet is definitely having some kind of negative effect on our heroes, lol. Talk about some pretty big, multiple cliffhangers too! O_O I apologize for how short and rushed this chapter is, but I figured this would be a good stopping point as things will get even more intense and bizarre from here on out! I’m definitely looking forward to writing more of this story arc. Thank you so much for reading this story! :)


	14. (Always) A Trap {Part Five}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Tex circled around her double, searching for an opening. Unfortunately, every move she made was copied in a mirror image stance by the imposter Veroni. As if sensing the blonde’s growing frustration and unease, her counterpart smirked in the dim, waning light.

_“Can’t keep up, Tex?”_ Tex’s doppelganger mocked in a voice that sounded somewhat like her own, but also like she was talking through a filter, _“Maybe that’s because, deep down, you know.”_

Tex narrowed her dark eyes, throwing a kick that the imposter blocked with one of her own. They were back at the starting point again. Damn.

The fake Tex’s smirk only widened, _“Deep down you know that you are_ nothing _but a shadow of a shadow. Of a dead woman, no less. Ouch.”_

The imposter attacked this time. Tex blocked, but barely. Black’s pilot was obviously more affected by the fake Veroni’s words than she’d care to admit.

As if sensing her doubt, _Texas_ pressed her advantage by kicking the real Tex back in the dirt a few meters, _“The only reason Church keeps you around is because you are a reminder of the first Tex.”_

Tex gritted her teeth, standing upright. “Shut. Up.” She stated dangerously, emphatically.

Her copy seemed more amused than anything else, and that only served to piss off the Veroni more. The black lines on Tex’s body positively _glowed_ in the night air. “I’ve made my own path.” She informed her clone matter-of-factly.

_“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”_

Tex didn’t wait to swing a punch with her full force behind it at the other woman… Only the satisfying impact that she was looking for never came. Instead, much to her growing frustration, her blow was once again blocked.

Except that, this time, it wasn’t her double who had done so. It was none other than Carolina. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The redhead demanded, her arms still up to block Tex’s fist from her face.

Tex was impressed at the half-Veroni’s strength. She could punch back tanks, after all. Tex instantly relaxed her guard but not her fist, glancing around. There was no one else there, save for the two of them. _Texas_ had apparently left the building, if the imposter had ever really been there in the first place.

“It’s nothing.” Tex finally replied to Carolina, unclenching the fist at her side.

Carolina’s green eyes regarded her disbelievingly, “It didn’t feel like nothing just then.” The cyan-armored soldier shook her hands in an attempt to recover from the impact of Tex’s fist.

In the silence that followed, the two women regarded one another. Tex’s expression remained guarded and neutral while Carolina’s was openly suspicious and searching. Leave it to the two of them to make this whole situation even more awkward than it needed to be. Church would be laughing his head off at the moment, or ducking for cover in case things got violent. One could never tell which way interactions between Carolina and Tex would go.

They both stayed in their silent regard until they heard what sounded like a gunshot off in the distance. The two women turned as one in the direction of the Elvari ruins. It took them no time at all to reach them and find the source of the noise.

Inside the closest ruin to the parked mechs, they found Doc trying to apply pressure to a bleeding Donut’s wound. The purple-wearing Elvari’s medical scanner was on the ground by his side next to a carton of spilled orange juice, as if he had discarded both in a hurry.

“What happened?” Carolina demanded, instantly dropping down to be at eye level with the two men.

Donut winced, “H—hey, Carolina! Tex!” He tried getting out cheerily through gritted teeth, as if being injured wasn’t a valid excuse for skipping pleasantries.

“He’s been shot!” Doc said with a voice that was a bit more frantic than the other Elvari’s, his tone urgent.

“We can see that.” Tex muttered, “Are you doing okay?”

“Oh, just dandy!” Donut said, trying to play off his injury as if it was no big deal, “It’s just a shoulder wound! Doc’s patching me up just fine.”

Doc said nothing in reply, but he seemed touched at the confidence Donut expressed in his skills. With that little bit of reassurance, he was blushing under his glasses and even seemed more focused. Tex watched him work. While she would never say that she had any confidence in Doc’s skills as a medic, she was glad that at least _someone_ did. Perhaps bringing him along wasn’t the worst idea.

“That’s good to know. But. What. Happened?” Carolina tried asking again, her voice both gentle and terrifying all at once.

Tex recognized the tone. Someone had hurt the former Freelancer’s family. They were going to be in a world of pain when she found them. …It was a sentiment that the mech pilot could relate to. No one hurt _her_ idiots and got away with it.

Doc and Donut both looked at one another for a second, uncertainty flashing across both of their faces. Finally, Doc responded, “Washington shot Donut.”

Both women shared a surprised look, and Donut bit his lip and reached out to grip Carolina’s shoulder with his good arm. “B—but it wasn’t his fault, I think!” He told her urgently, “He seemed really freaked out.”

Doc nodded his head in agreement, “He was definitely confused and out of sorts. I would have offered him some orange juice to calm down, but I needed to help Donut first.”

Carolina turned her head upwards to fix Tex with a pointed stare, who quickly looked away. Obviously, the redhead was thinking back to Tex’s “out of sorts” moment. Tex frowned at the thought that all of these bizarre incidents were connected.

Carolina scowled as she processed what they had just been told. At length, the former Freelancer turned her attention to Doc, “Can you treat him while on the move?” She asked, “We need to get back to the others as soon as possible.”

Doc turned to stare at Donut, who smiled once more in a reassuring manner. The medic nodded then, and together he and Carolina helped the pink-wearing pilot get up on his feet.

“Good.” Carolina patted Donut’s uninjured shoulder awkwardly before getting back to business, “Now, which way did Washington go?”

Both men pointed in the direction of the Trocadero colony, and Tex couldn’t help swearing under her breath, “Mother fucker.”

*****

Charles Palomo and Katie Jensen were walking together through Armonia’s military facility. They were traversing through one of the facility’s corridors, chatting about various non-work related topics as they were both now technically off the clock. Those who happened to walk by were greeted to conversation snippets about superhero stories or driving skills.

“This is great!” Palomo noted cheerfully after their talk had veered into recently released comic book issues territory, “I love that I can talk about stuff like this with you and the other guys.”

“Really?” Jensen blinked in surprise at the half-Veroni’s comment, “What do you mean?”

“Um,” the normally talkative young man suddenly became oddly sheepish, a blush suffusing his dark-skinned features and brightening his aqua-colored Veroni lines, “Okay, just don’t laugh, all right? But, my only real friend here on Chorus growing up was Matthews.”

Right. Jensen had vaguely remembered hearing how the half-human and the Elvari had been childhood friends of sorts. She nodded her brown-haired head in affirmation that he should continue, a sign he instantly picked up on.

Palomo smiled nostalgically, “I guess we were both awkward enough that we kind of bonded.” He gave her his trademark goofy grin, “Hard to believe now given how awesome I am, am I right?”

_Maybe a bit more believable than you think._ Jensen couldn’t help but think, though she smiled warmly at him all the same, “I can kind of relate, in a way.” She told the dark-skinned rookie, “I didn’t really have too many friends myself before arriving on Chorus.” …For reasons that she definitely did not want to dwell on. She hoped her expression hadn’t darkened too much.

The Strassian girl realized it probably had because Palomo was regarding her with open curiosity then, “How come…?” He began, almost at a loss for how to continue his questioning.

Thankfully, before Palomo had the chance to inquire further, Jensen noticed movement in the corridor out of the corner of her eye. The Strassian moved forward, surprised at seeing someone so close to a secure area. She narrowed her eyes as she recognized the steel-colored armor belonging to Chorus’ newest recruit.

“Miller!” Jensen called out in greeting, “What are you doing over by Records?”

The _sealed_ Records room, in particular. The lieutenants didn’t even have full access to this area.

Zachary Miller scratched his head and let out a nervous laugh, “Oh, uh, just lost my way! This place is huge.” He glanced over at the locked door behind him, “Records, huh. Just what kind of records are stored here, I wonder?” He asked out of cheerful curiosity.

It was a question that all rookies asked at one point or another, so Jensen saw no reason not to tell him: “Classified intel on Chorus military operations and the like.”

Palomo had trotted over to the two by this point, nodding his head in agreement, “Yeah, we aren’t really allowed to enter the room without a good reason.”

“Or without permission.” Jensen further clarified, indicating that its contents were not intended for lower ranked soldiers like themselves.

“Right.” Miller nodded his head in understanding, glancing at the door one last time before grinning sheepishly, “If you guys don’t mind, could you show me the way back to the residential district? Maybe we could run into Matthews and the others there.”

“No problem!” Palomo replied, returning the human’s grin with one of his own.

The conversation then turned back to comic books as the trio moved down the hall, their laughter resounding off the corridor’s walls as they headed out of the military facility.

*****

Lavernius Tucker was walking through the mostly quiet, darkened streets of Trocadero. He had just finished his call to Junior and was in high spirits. The kid was doing great, even with Church babysitting him. Junior had happily ended the communication by cheerily asking Tucker to bring him back a souvenir, and Tucker promised he would if he could find something in this shithole of a colony.

Aqua’s pilot figured that going out for a bit would help him relax enough to get some sleep, though he wasn’t too keen on returning to his room just yet. He tried to ignore the part of his brain that oh-so-helpfully wanted to say it was because Washington wasn’t there yet.

Instead, Tucker focused on the fact that as he had been leaving for his walk he had heard a bit of a commotion in their resting area. Something about said commotion told him that he probably didn’t want to go back, even though it had piqued his curiosity a bit. But, fuck it, he was on a break. That commotion seemed like bad news of the _Caboose had accidentally set something on fire again_ variety. He didn’t need to deal with that shit on his off hours.

“Tucker.”

The dark-skinned man stopped pacing abruptly when he heard a haggard, familiar voice say his name from behind him. Much to his growing surprise, he spotted David Washington standing there out of the corner of his eye. The former pilot of Steel had a strangely intense look crossing over his features, but, then again, this _was_ Washington they were talking about. When did the blond ever _not_ look serious?

Tucker turned around fully to face him, a grin splitting his face, “Hey, man! How’d your patrol or whatever it was…go?” The last part of his question became a trailed-off mess once he saw the gun that Washington was holding tightly and as he really took in the stricken expression in the Freelancer’s gray eyes.

“What…what the fuck is going on?!?” Tucker couldn’t keep his voice from rising slightly in panic as he took a step towards the full-blooded Strassian, _“Washington?”_

Washington blinked at the urgent way that Tucker called his name, as if he was being snapped out of a dream. Well, more like a nightmare given the older man’s state. Washington’s fingers went limp and the gun he was holding suddenly dropped to the dusty ground.

In three long strides, Washington was at Tucker’s side and pulling the half-human into a crushing, desperate embrace that left Tucker’s lungs screaming for air. “I’m…I’m sorry.” He was muttering into Tucker’s ear, “Tucker, I—I’m…!”

Tucker returned the embrace tightly as Washington’s voice shakily trailed off, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no idea what the fuck was going on, so naturally Aqua’s pilot was more than just a tad unnerved despite the close contact from Washington.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons was lying in a pool of blood and Dexter Grif wasn’t sure what to do to help him. The orange-armored human could still hardly believe that he had somehow _stabbed_ his fellow pilot in the throes of a nightmare.

Grif was going to be sick. Orange’s pilot suddenly regretted all of the meals he had indulged in recently, as he could feel the partially digested food already building up in his stomach. Damn it, why did he like to eat so much if he reacted to shitty things by puking? He was about to upchuck. But, then he realized that wouldn’t help Simmons any, so he managed to force the bile back down.

Grif gritted his teeth, all issues regarding possibly regurgitated food becoming a distant memory in the face of Simmons needing his help then and there. He could do the other shit later.

The tan-skinned man bent down over the grimacing, unconscious Strassian. He gripped the lankier man’s shoulders in a tight but altogether shaky grip as his mind started trying to process what the fuck he needed to do next.

Damn it. Through raising Kai, he had been well-prepared for things like skinned knees and unplanned pregnancies, but he didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do for stab wounds. In the past on Rat’s Nest, if he had stabbed people he didn’t attempt to patch them up afterwards. Survival instinct and all that shit.

Briefly, Grif couldn’t help but wonder where everyone else was. If he could just find Doc then maybe he could still save Simmons. The chubby human hoped that maybe he could speedily make his way to the Elvari ruins that Doc had gone to with Washington and Donut, but his eyes wandered to the blood spilling from Simmons’ wound and he realized he didn’t have that kind of fucking time.

At that exact moment, the door to the room opened. Aiden Price and four other colony residents stepped inside. Before Grif’s brain could even formulate asking the question about what they were fucking doing there, Price gazed down at the scene of Maroon’s pilot bleeding out with an oddly detached, clinical sort of interest.

“It seems things have escalated rather quickly.” Price muttered before turning to a still panicking and not-in-his-right-mind Grif, “We will need to move quickly if we are to save him.”

The four colony residents who had come with Price moved forward then, and Grif’s hands tightened their hold on Simmons. “N—no…!” He began, wanting to do nothing more than to pull the redhead closer to him in that moment to keep him away from the strangers.

Then a searing, sharp pain shot through his skull and Grif couldn’t fight the urge to reel back violently from it. While he was distracted, one of the colonists gently pried Simmons from Grif’s grip as the other three hauled the pale, redheaded Strassian’s body off of the bloodied floor.

Price looked down at Grif with that same clinical look in his brown eyes he had moments earlier, “This is all for the best. We want to ensure that your friend will be all right.”

The colonists carried Simmons out of the room, and Price cast one final look at a grimacing, pain-stricken Grif before he took his leave as well.

As soon as he was left alone in the room, Grif curled up on the floor right next to the spot of Simmons’ quickly congealing blood. The human’s brain was still reeling from _whatever_ the hell it was that had struck him.

Left all alone, Grif’s panicked mind began cursing himself over what he had just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not a lot of answers as to what is happening at the colony, but the plot is steadily moving along now! Although, I wouldn’t be quite so trusting of Miller if I were on Chorus. Silly characters! This was a shorter chapter, but a necessary one to move the plot forward. Hopefully future updates will not disappoint!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading this story! :)


	15. (Always) A Trap {Part Six}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Lavernius Tucker’s brain short-circuited as he desperately tried to process what was going on. What was happening that had him so puzzled? Well, an upset Agent Washington was hugging him.

_Wash_ was fucking hugging him.

Aqua’s pilot honestly had no clue what to do. They were currently treading in unfamiliar territory. Tucker felt the full-blooded Strassian’s shaky breath on his neck as easily as he felt the tremors in Washington’s usually very steady arms.

Something was definitely wrong here. Yet, even as alarm bells blared to life in his mind, there was a small, miniscule part of Tucker that felt an odd tingle of joy at the unexpected contact. He tried squashing that part down as he shakily returned the blond’s embrace.

“H—hey, Wash?” Tucker asked cautiously as they continued their awkward hug, “What’s going on?”

The dark-skinned man, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t an idiot. Okay, well, he sort of was one. But, only sometimes. Still, Tucker knew something had to be up given this unusual scenario. Truth be told, he was terrified to find out what it was even as he asked the question out loud. Shit was about to get real. Fast.

Naturally, because things on Trocadero just had to get even crazier, it wasn’t David Washington who spoke next.

“Good question, Tucker. For once.” Tex’s familiar voice cut through the night air, “We were wondering the same thing.”

Tucker felt Washington stiffen at the Veroni’s deadpan tone. He looked behind the steel-and-yellow-armored Freelancer to find four figures standing there, seemingly cautious as they witnessed the scene between Tucker and Washington.

Carolina, Tex, Doc, and…

“Donut?!?” Tucker exclaimed at the sight of his teammate’s wounded shoulder and bloodstained pink armor, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Well,” Donut said as he scratched the back of his helmet awkwardly with his one good hand, “Funny you should ask that, Tucker. You see…”

“I shot him.”

It was Washington who actually explained Donut’s injury, reluctantly pulling away from Tucker’s embrace as he did so. The slightly older man looked as if someone had just kicked a basket of puppies into oncoming traffic.

Of course, given the admission Tucker could understand why. Donut practically _was_ the embodiment of puppies in Elvari form. So, it was probably more accurate to say that Washington looked like he’d just shot a basket of puppies.

“Say what now?” Tucker asked, tone disbelieving even as he felt himself subconsciously take a step back from the former Freelancer just in case.

“Oh, it’s no big deal!” Donut exclaimed in an attempt for joviality which boggled Tucker’s mind given the situation, “I’ll be back to tossing in no time, thanks to Doc!”

“It—it isn’t something you should be taking too lightly, though…” Doc said as he fidgeted slightly next to the dirty blond.

Tucker didn’t doubt that there was a blush forming on the Elvari’s cheeks underneath his purple helmet and glasses. His childhood friend was transparent as fuck, although Donut seemed to be oblivious. Tucker couldn’t decide if Doc was lucky or unlucky to have found someone as clueless as Donut to crush on.

“Oh, Doc! You need to stop being so modest!” Donut told Doc brightly ( _unlucky_ , Tucker decided) before turning to Washington, “He really did help, so there’s no need for you to feel bad. Just think of all the unnecessary wrinkles you’re giving yourself!”

“But I _shot_ you!” The former Freelancer replied, flabbergasted. Tucker didn’t need to see his face to guess at the expression. He could actually hear the frown in Washington’s voice when he regarded the wounded Elvari, as if he wasn’t prepared to let go of his own guilt.

“No shit.” Tex growled out as she stepped forward before Donut could try his hand at reassurance once more, “We’ve got that part of the story down pat already.”

Well, Tucker thought glumly, at least someone did. He was still trying to wrap his head about the whole Washington-shooting-Donut thing himself. None of this was making any fucking sense!

Carolina, who had been rather quiet throughout the whole exchange, stepped past the black-armored woman. The redhead held out her arms in what was probably meant to be a pacifying gesture. Of course, since it was coming from _Carolina_ of all people, it sort of still looked like she was about to kick all of their asses instead. The half-Veroni chick was hot, but scary as fuck.

“Wash.” Carolina stated calmly in the kind of voice one might use to coax kittens out of trees, which was all sorts of bizarre and unsettling coming from her since it also still sounded like she’d then throw those kittens out of an airlock, “We just want to know what happened.”

Washington flinched slightly before casting an unsure look towards everyone crowded around him. The blond’s eyes lingered on Tucker, who gave him an encouraging nod since his throat suddenly felt dry.

Washington sighed, his shoulders slumping, “I saw…the Meta.” He finally said at length, “He—he attacked me, and when I responded I ended up…”

The Strassian trailed off then to glance apologetically towards Donut before averting his gaze to the ground.

Washington’s admission seemed to create a whole new issue as Tex and Carolina both stiffened considerably at the mention of whatever the _“Meta”_ was. The women shared a guarded look with each other, eyebrows raised in contemplation. Fucking Freelancer problems, obviously. For the three in their current group not in the know, Washington’s words just resulted in utter confusion.

“Hold up.” Tucker finally got out, “What the fuck is the Meta?”

“Yeah,” Doc said as he nodded his head in agreement with his friend, “I think there are parts of the story that we still need explained.”

Rather quickly too, because there was definitely something weird-as-fuck about this planet. Tucker just wanted to get the hell off of it.

*****

Leonard Church sighed as he stood in front of the doors to Doctor Emily Grey’s clinic, the smell of powerful antiseptics already launching an assault on his nose. For not the first time since this idea came to him, the Veroni questioned the wisdom of what he was about to do.

But, fuck it! Sometimes you just have to wade through bullshit you don’t want to do in order to get results. That was kind of the story of his life, now that he thought about it. Church sighed. That probably wasn’t the right kind of motivational example. His life sort of sucked.

Church could almost see his sister rolling her green eyes at his hesitation, and Tex smirking a little before smacking his ass and telling him to get on with it. Then, dream!Carolina and dream!Tex would fight each other because they can’t even get along in hallucinations.

…Man, he seriously missed those two right about now.

Sighing yet again, Church pressed the button on the terminal right next to the clinic doors. He stepped quickly inside just as they opened, before he regained his sanity and changed his mind.

The inside of the clinic was pristine and spotless with an assortment of empty beds and tables. There were medical tools carefully arranged on shelves. Wherever he looked, all he saw was order and cleanliness.

In a way, the dark-haired man was rather surprised by how neat and organized the space was every time he came here. Church was always under the false impression that Doctor Grey’s setup would be more “mad scientist”-like given the dark-skinned woman’s eccentricities.

That, and she had been hanging out with Sarge quite a bit as of late. The red-armored mech pilot’s workspace most definitely resembled something of an unkempt lair, so Church had unfairly assumed Dr. Grey’s clinic would be the same by association.

“I’ll be right with you!” Grey’s singsong voice interrupted his thoughts as the other Veroni came into view from behind a curtained-off portion of the large clinic area.

In her arms was a large box. She placed the package gently down on a table nearby. Church squinted at an object that was just barely poking out from the top of the box.

“Is that a box full of robot arms?” The cobalt-wearing man couldn’t help asking, although he managed to hide his terror at the image. Mostly.

“Yep!” Grey exclaimed gleefully as she wiped her hands on her knees. Her smile was as blinding as the sun when she nodded in response, “As a matter of fact, they just came in today!”

“Why do you need so fucking many?” Church asked, although he honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer or not given her tendency to give him nightmares.

“Oh, come now! You never know when a box of robot arms will come in handy!” The woman in white-and-purple armor chided cheerily enough, “Preparation is a key component of good medicine!”

“Right.” Church was definitely starting to regret his decision to come here. He wondered if it would be totally obvious if he walked out the doors right now. Backwards and slowly, of course. It wouldn’t be wise for one to leave their back turned towards Doctor Grey. She was always catching people off-guard.

“It’s rare for you to visit when there isn’t some emergency taking place.” Grey noted, dashing all hopes Church had for a quick escape, “Is something wrong?”

All at once, the Veroni was amazed at how quickly she could change from a crazy researcher to a professional. She was definitely the master of catching people off-guard.

Church nodded his head in response to her question, “It’s about…my sleep.” He finally admitted. After all, he was here now. It probably wouldn’t hurt to just get this over with.

“Your sleep?” The purple-lined Veroni asked, a dark eyebrow raised in surprise at his vague remark.

“I don’t fucking sleep well, all right?” Church sighed as he put a hand to his head, “Nightmares and shit.”

_Stupid ass Director. Stupid ass Project Freelancer._

“Normally, Tex helps me out when they happen.” Church chose not to elaborate here on how she held him close in the middle of the night after he woke himself up screaming because it was none of Grey’s goddamned business, but he saw the way her eyes lit up all the same at the mention of his on-and-off-and-on-again girlfriend, “But since she’s been away on this fucking mission…”

“Things have been getting steadily worse, is that correct?” Doctor Grey asked, surprisingly gentle.

Church could only nod in response. He hated fucking admitting this type of shit to people. Even himself.

Doctor Grey tapped her finger on a nearby medical exam table, a thoughtful expression clouding over her features. “I can prescribe something to make it easier for you to go to sleep, though that won’t be dealing with the root of the problem.” She informed him at length.

The blue-eyed man relaxed visibly, “That would be great, Doctor Grey.”

She smiled back at him, “You’re welcome.”

As Dr. Grey tapped out the prescription on her datapad, and Church was just starting to think that this trip hadn’t gone too bad after all, she glanced up at him with a hopeful look on her face. “You know, a more permanent solution to your sleeping dilemma would be to let me psycho-analyze you.” She offered with an eager light in her brown eyes.

With that, Church once again regretted his decision to come here.

*****

“...Mierda.” _{“…Holy shit.”}_

Lopez’s robotic voice coming from the doorway caused a visibly distraught Dexter Grif’s head to lift up marginally from the bloodstain that he was kneeling next to.

“Grif?” Sheila asked as she poked her head around the brown-armored robot, tentatively peering into the room, “There was a commotion earlier. What happened?”

Orange’s pilot opened his mouth to talk, but couldn’t find the right words. His thoughts went to Simmons lying there on the floor, and he grimaced. After all, how did one explain that they had stabbed their own teammate? …Donut would probably send a heartfelt note written in calligraphy with a flower arrangement. 

Caboose was next to enter the doorway, “Is that ketchup?” He asked Grif, “Were you eating in bed?”

Yeah, right. Like he could have eaten in bed with Maroon’s pilot as his roommate. Simmons would have just bitched at him a ton because they were _“guests”_ here or some shit. Of course, thinking about the nerdy redhead caused another wave of guilt to go crashing through him.

Lopez and Sheila both looked at the scene before them. Their vision most likely was of a disoriented Grif, a puddle of blood congealing on the floor, and a knife that was lying in-between the other two objects. It no doubt painted a not-so-great picture. After their evidence gathering, Lopez and Sheila looked to each other. Worry was evident in their body language, but they didn’t say anything.

It was actually Caboose who brought up the question that was on all their minds: “Where’s Simon?”

Sheila kept a steady hand on Caboose’s shoulder to keep him from getting too close to the crime scene as Grif shuddered.

Suddenly, a figure in red pushed past the hesitant trio in the open doorway. Sarge promptly moved his head to and fro to get a good grasp on the situation. The Arenian dominated the room as if he owned it, and for a split second the orange-armored soldier could almost understand why Simmons kissed his ass. Then the moment passed and Grif remembered that the old man was crazy as shit.

“What in tarnation happened here?” Sarge questioned as he stood over Grif with a take charge posture, brown eyes flashing in the way of the criminally insane.

Grif flinched slightly, gesturing at the ground helplessly, “S—Simmons. He…I…”

Sarge sighed and reached down to put his hands on Grif’s shoulders. The heavyset man’s babbling instantly stopped at the contact. “Calm down and tell us everything, dirt-bag.” Sarge told him succinctly.

Grif took in a shaky, deep breath. And then another, and another. At length, he was finally able to relay everything that had occurred.

The nightmare. Simmons, trying to wake him from it. The accidental stabbing even though Grif had no fucking recollection of where the knife had come from. Simmons, bleeding out on the floor. Then Price and some of the other colonists taking Maroon’s pilot away for medical treatment.

“But, how did the colonists so quickly gain knowledge about the incident?” Sheila questioned after he was finished, clearly disturbed by Grif’s recollection.

“Especialmente porque deberíamos haber estado más cerca de él.” _{“Especially since we should have been closer to it.”}_

Judging by his tone of voice just then, there was no doubt that, if Lopez had a face underneath his helmet, he would be frowning.

“Something ain’t right here.” Sarge muttered, more to himself than to anyone else in the room.

Grif didn’t say anything as he was moved onto one of the beds by Caboose and Lopez. He had managed to get himself into a sitting position, but it was obvious that he had done so subconsciously. The tan-skinned human shook his head as he continued staring at the blood, _Simmons_ ’ blood, on the floor.

“It’s all my fucking fault.” Grif finally murmured, “Simmons might _die_ because of me and—“

Sarge interrupted his rising panic by raising a hand, “Now, wait just a dang minute.” Warthog’s pilot informed Grif, “There’s nothing I’d rather do than blame all of the universe’s misfortunes on you…”

Force of habit caused Grif to roll his eyes as he interrupted the red-armored man’s tirade: “Gee, thanks, Sarge.”

“…But I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this isn’t one of those things I can blame on your sorry excuse for a soldier self.” Sarge carried on as if Grif hadn’t just spoken.

Grif regarded him, open-mouthed, “What the fuck are you talking about? I fucking stabbed Simmons!”

If the redheaded Strassian died because of him, he’d…

“There’s something off about this here planet.” Sarge stated dramatically, “I can feel it in my bones.”

“¿Estás seguro de que no es sólo artritis?” _{“Are you sure it isn’t just arthritis?”}_

“You should probably take more calcium.” Caboose intoned seriously.

Sarge patted Grif on the shoulder hard, “So quit lollygagging around here feeling sorry for yourself!” He told the chubby man emphatically, “We have a Strassian to find, and maybe some Charon hide to kick!”

The surprising pep talk was enough to get Grif back up and onto his feet. He nodded his head.

Simmons was going to be fine. He _had_ to be. They were going to find him and get off this creepy-as-fuck planet.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons woke with a start. His eyes automatically winced at the bright light that suddenly accosted him from overhead. The Strassian’s body ached. His mind was a garbled mess too, groggy both from pain and having just awakened.

The last thing he remembered had been getting ready to go to sleep himself. That was right about when Grif had started violently thrashing nearby…

But, this was definitely not their shared room on Trocadero. So where was he, and what had happened?

“Ah, I see that you’re awake.” A calm voice said to his right. Definitely not Grif.

Maroon’s pilot turned his head in the voice’s direction to find Aiden Price regarding him with a detached look in his dark eyes. Price’s hands were behind his back, as if he was trying to appear relaxed-yet-contemplative.

“Wha…?” Simmons’ brain was still rather muddled, and he mentally cursed at how inarticulate he was coming across to an associate of Tex’s, Carolina’s, and Washington’s.

“You were gravely injured. Do you not remember?” Price asked him, voice detached.

Simmons remembered a flash of metal in the dark. Then shock and sudden white-hot _pain_ …

_Grif._

He had to get back to Grif!

Simmons tried sitting up, but there was a sharp pain in his side as he did so. He gasped, unable to complete the action just then. Something definitely wasn’t right.

Price was by the redhead’s side in an instant, keeping him down on the cold medical table’s surface by resting a hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid you’ve been removed from the others while you heal. As a precautionary measure,” the Counselor informed Simmons, “We’ll have to ask that you stay here with us for the time being.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No puppies or kittens were harmed in the making of this chapter, although Simmons might be in a whole lot of trouble ATM! Lol, I’m mean to him in this fic. Anyways, I had a whole lot of fun writing the other parts of this story. The character interactions were rather entertaining to write! XD Things are definitely picking up in pace, and that will continue to be the case as this story arc continues.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting on this story! :)


	16. (Always) A Trap {Part Seven}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

“Shit, the more I hear about Freelancer, the more I fucking want to vomit.” Lavernius Tucker blurted out the very second following Carolina’s clipped explanation behind who and what the Meta was.

…Because, seriously? It was all sorts of crazy to think that there was a super soldier program in the first place. On paper at least, this particular program had originally been designed to help protect people. What it ultimately ended up doing was experiment on its own participants instead, to the point where one of the soldiers’ minds had broken and he had become an unstoppable killing machine. So, yeah, fuck Freelancer.

“That isn’t a sentiment any of us are likely to disagree with, Tucker.” Washington told him in an almost self-mocking sort of way.

Tucker’s eyes flitted over to rest squarely on the full-blooded Strassian. David Washington looked as though all of the recent events had not only just caught up with him, but that they had then proceeded to bash him repeatedly over the head. Aqua’s pilot supposed that following having accidentally shot a current teammate, Washington’s having to then recount what was obviously a horribly traumatic time would do that.

The tale that had just been spun about Freelancer had resulted in Washington being placed in a hospital for a long time, along with the loss of his mech Steel. It was obvious that the walk down memory lane combined with his “accidentally shooting Donut” episode still weighed heavily on Washington, especially with the way the former Freelancer guiltily glanced towards Donut as Doc tended to him despite the pink-armored soldier’s insistence that he was _“Fine and dandy, and as ready to burst as ever!”_ now.

Tucker wanted to go over to the blond and touch his shoulder reassuringly while looking directly into his gray eyes, a move that generally worked better if the other person was slightly drunk. He’d work his magic by asking Washington if he was doing all right. Chicks dug that kind of shit, after all! Washington should too, right?

However, despite the big game the half-Strassian liked to talk, touchy-feely moments for Tucker were majorly awkward-as-fuck at the best of times and violent at the worst. Maybe this situation wasn’t worth trying out one of his trademark come-ons. So, Tucker resisted the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge that had just washed over him. But, only barely.

“What I gathered from what you all said was that this Meta guy was definitely bad news.” Doc spoke up carefully as he reluctantly stepped away from Donut.

The medic had apparently done what he could for the other Elvari’s shoulder, but judging from the way he kept glancing over at Donut, it was obvious that he still wanted to do more to help. Tucker glanced over at Washington again, somewhat able to relate a bit to his purple-armored friend’s predicament. More than he’d probably want to ever admit as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from Washington.

“He was.” Carolina said as she nodded succinctly, raising an eyebrow, “Your point being…?”

“Well, it definitely sounds like by _this_ current point in time, he should have been dead for a while.” The medic concluded hastily, obviously unnerved by the redhead’s pointed stare.

Tex snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, “Oh, we _definitely_ made sure of that.” She said in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring. Instead, her tone really only served to yet again remind Tucker why he tried to avoid pissing the black-armored Veroni off.

“So,” Tucker noted seriously as he picked up on what Doc was trying to say, “Washington _definitely_ shouldn’t have seen him in the ruins.”

Donut helpfully chimed in at this point as well, “I can usually find a _lot_ of things crammed into dark, tight spaces, but even I’m scratching my head at this one!”

No doubt for the sake of her continued sanity, Carolina spoke up as if the dirty blond _hadn’t_ said anything brain breaking, “You’re right.” She noted, a distinct edge to her voice, “The dead usually don’t just suddenly reappear.”

Tex and Washington both looked over at one another, askance.

_“What?”_ Carolina asked them sharply, their shared look not lost on the half-Veroni.

“Didn’t you technically come back from the dead after that first Meta attack, boss?” Washington questioned, wincing as if afraid the redhead was going to pummel him with her suddenly clenched fists.

“That was different! I wasn’t _actually_ dead.” Carolina quickly responded, obviously fighting the _hit Washington_ urge, “Besides, are you two forgetting how that ended up saving all of our asses?”

Right. While the Meta was busy battling Tex, who had been distracting the Meta in order to give Church time to pull the wounded Washington away, a sneak attack from the returned Carolina was what had finally put a stop to Project Freelancer’s failed experiments for good. At least, that’s how the former Freelancers had told the story.

“At any rate,” Tex rubbed the back of her head as a contemplative frown crossed over her black-lined Veroni features, “The Meta showing up here like he did is no doubt tied to my own weird-as-fuck experience back over at the mechs.”

“And to other strange experiences as well.” Carolina noted, a frown on her face and a faraway look in her green eyes as if she was contemplating an event that she wasn’t in the mood to share with all of them just yet.

Tucker whistled, “Well, now we definitely know that someone on this planet is trying to fuck with us.”

“Oh, so you fellas figured that out too?”

The group spun around at the familiar drawl directed their way, surprised to see that most of the Chorus traveling party were now just a few meters behind them. Tucker couldn’t help but frown at the troubled air about their body languages, as if sensing that their presence here meant nothing good.

“You guys don’t look so great either.” Donut noted, concern lacing his normally cheerful voice, “Did you not get enough beauty sleep?”

“No duermo, y obviamente hay alguien jugando con nosotros.” _{“I don't sleep, and there is obviously someone messing with us.”}_

“Sleep is for the weak, son!” Sarge exclaimed, stepping forward just as Lopez said _whatever_ the fuck it was that he said, “Besides, it’s a hard thing to do when a whole planet might be plotting against you!”

“This has not been the fun kind of sleepover so far.” Caboose intoned very seriously from his spot next to the older Arenian in red, the tone of disappointment practically visible in the dejected way Freckles’ pilot stood.

“We just reached the same conclusion that you obviously have.” Sheila informed them, “Something is _very_ wrong with this planet.”

Carolina, quick to take charge, nodded her head quietly in agreement while Tucker was much more vocal with his _“You can fucking say that again!”_ comment. Carolina continued as if Tucker hadn’t spoken, “We need to figure out who is doing this and how…” The redhead in cyan stopped short when she did a mental headcount, “We’re down a person.”

“…Where’s Simmons?” Washington asked, a note of worry in his voice as he noticed that it was his Strassian _“protégé”_ who was nowhere in sight.

Just then, the group that had exited their temporary sleeping quarters on Trocadero all looked at one another uncomfortably. Tucker suddenly felt a sinking suspicion in the pit of his stomach. Either that or it was indigestion.

It was Grif who finally spoke up to answer Washington’s question, the orange-armored mech pilot having been uncharacteristically silent during the earlier round of conversation. There was a haunted, upset look in the human’s brown eyes. Grif seemed the most upset out of everyone there, save perhaps Washington who was now worried about Simmons on top of still shooting guilty looks in Donut’s direction every five seconds.

“Something…something really _fucked up_ happened.” Grif said at length, voice shaky and more urgent-sounding than Tucker had ever heard it before, “He was injured and taken away by that Price guy.”

The Freelancers in their midst all stiffened at the name from their shared past, exchanging one of their oh-so-mysterious glances with one another. Tucker raised an eyebrow, having already detected by how they had reacted before that this supposedly reformed Price guy had been extremely bad news in the past.

“We should get a message back to Chorus as soon as possible.” Tex said quietly, her demeanor by this point having gone completely rigid.

Carolina nodded her head, “We need to reach the mechs quickly.” Grif stepped forward shakily, opening his mouth as if to protest this decision before Carolina held up her hand to cut him off, “Once we have secured our route out of here, we’ll begin searching for Simmons in earnest.” She promised.

Grif said nothing in response, but his frown visibly deepened. However, Orange’s pilot gave a curt nod before the group began to move urgently through the quiet colony grounds. Their destination was the outskirts where their mechs were located.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons was being sat upright on his bed rather gently, though he still couldn’t help but wince through his exhausted state of mind at the sudden, sharp pain in his side. He frowned somewhat through the haze that seemed to be permeating all of his thoughts at the moment.

A part of him _thought_ that he remembered how he had been injured, but his brain was rather fuzzy on the details when he tried to recall the exact memory.

“How are you feeling now, Simmons?” A calm, almost detached voice asked him.

Simmons let out a pathetic, helpless whimper when a hand reached out and stroked the side of his head, petting it like someone might an animal. He remembered now.

He had been in that…that _place_ that the man who had taken him from his home had brought him too. The pain in his side had been from when he had resisted earlier.

Something was brought to his mouth, a glass of some kind. Though his parched mouth and throat were achingly thirsty, Simmons could _still_ taste the Tevkask on his tongue from before. So, he shrank away from the proffered beverage as if it were poison.

“You do not wish to drink yet?” The dark-skinned man sitting beside him inquired gently, as if he was trying to soothe a child.

Simmons vaguely recalled that the man’s name was Price and that he wasn’t _the_ man from his memories. He reminded himself that he wasn’t actually _there_ anymore. He was actually _safe_? Simmons almost didn’t dare to dream that it could be true.

Price lowered the glass, nodding slowly as if aware of the thoughts that permeated the Strassian’s mind, “That’s more than understandable, given everything that’s happened.”

Simmons felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his hands clenching into shaking fists at his sides. He _hated_ feeling this weak. He never wanted to feel this powerless again.

“You’re _safe_ now.” Price reassured him, resting a hand gently on his trembling shoulder, “Neither your father nor that other man will hurt you anymore. So long as you remain in our care.”

Simmons couldn’t stop himself from clinging to that small sliver of hope, desperate for it. He wasn’t even sure of who _“they”_ were exactly, but they had saved him and that was all that mattered.

“But in exchange,” Price continued, “You _will_ have to do us a favor.”

Simmons nodded his head in understanding. He would do anything to help repay Price and the others for rescuing him.

Price tilted his head to the doorway towards where another man, a much taller one, was standing. The newcomer was donning a helmet with a shark motif on it. There was something about this person that seemed oddly familiar to Simmons, but he assumed it was from whatever rescue mission they had undergone to free him.

His brain was still strangely foggy in some areas when it came to his memory in particular, but he figured it was due to the extremely slow recovery process normally associated with long term Tevkask usage.

“This is Terrence. _Sharkface_ , as it were.” Price told him in way of explanation, “You need to go with him and retrieve your mech. We have tests that we still need to run on it.” Price smiled at the redhead again, and Simmons tried not to be too freaked out that it didn’t seem as if the gesture _quite_ reached his eyes, “Afterwards, you will _finally_ be free to choose what it is you want to do with your own life.”

Simmons nodded his head again, ignoring the slight pain in his side as he stood up on shaky feet to exit the room. As he did so, he didn’t quite catch the whispered words that were exchanged afterwards between Sharkface and Price.

*****

Antoine Bitters was trying his hardest, really trying, not to let the annoyance he felt over just how well Zachary Miller seemed to suddenly fit in with his group of friends show too much on his face. After all, he had a staunch reputation as a maverick of sorts to uphold. Said reputation required an appearance of apathy most of the time.

“So, to make a long story short, Dex was pretty fucking peeved that I didn’t message him earlier, but that would have totally ruined the mood! Plus, I would’ve had to unwind my legs from the chandelier.” Kaikaina concluded, scrunching up her face as she added, “Do you know how _hard_ it is to get up on one of those things?”

Palomo, who was currently glaring holes at Miller as he oh-so-subtly stabbed his plate of food with his fork while the others were joyfully listening to yet another one of Kai’s tales about growing up in Rat’s Nest, was doing an even _less_ remarkable job at covering up his frustration. However, Bitters knew that this visible agitation of Charles Palomo’s had more to do with how the dark-skinned half-human had not been able to sit next to Jensen like he usually did thanks to Miller’s presence at the table.

That wasn’t what Bitters’ problem with Miller was, honestly. It wasn’t a sense of petty jealousy that was getting to the Arenian about the newcomer. There was just _something_ about Miller that rubbed Bitters the wrong way. It was vague as shit, but life in general tended to be vague as shit if one thought about it.

As the peals of laughter over Kai’s exploit died down, Volleyball glanced over at a wall terminal in the mess hall that displayed the time. “Well, it looks like the night shift is about to start.” She announced, a chorus of groans arising from the table following her statement.

Things were generally pretty boring on Chorus with the mech pilots away. Since all of the rookies were somehow landing night rounds on top of that, it was only further guaranteed that they were in for an uneventful evening. Seriously, nothing _ever_ seemed to happen when you were assigned night duty on Chorus.

“Best to just make do as much as we can.” Andersmith tried stating encouragingly, already getting up to clear the table.

“You’re right.” Jensen was quick to chime in, “Working tonight means having the morning off!”

“Yeah, but it still blows. I mean, people look at you weird when you want to show off how flexible you are at breakfast for some reason.” Kaikaina remarked glumly, “Judgmental assholes.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Palomo nodded his head in earnest agreement before he paused, “Um, come again?”

“Ha! That’s what she said!”

As everyone began moving to put their trays away following Kai’s outburst, the still sitting Miller reached out and grabbed Matthews’ arm to keep him in place. The action was not lost on Bitters, who frowned and remained standing uninvited there too.

“Since it seems like we’ll have the morning free, I was wondering what there is that’s fun to do around here before the afternoon.” Miller said to the bespectacled lieutenant, a grin suffusing his features as he clearly impeded into Matthews’ personal space.

Bitters’ frown deepened at the sight, and his grip on his tray tightened marginally as he contemplated hitting Miller over the head with it.

“Oh! Um, I’m not exactly the best one to ask.” Matthews managed to stutter out to Miller, his face slightly red as his hazel eyes took in the hand still gripping him by the elbow, “I bet Kai and Palomo could give you tons of great suggestions.”

“Come on,” Miller said, coupled with the audacity to actually _wink_ at Matthews just then, “You probably have a few good ideas though.”

“Er…” Matthews blanched, completely at a loss as to what to say.

“Matthews.” Bitters was surprised by how sharp his voice sounded when he spoke as he practically glared a hole into Miller all the while, “We have to check on that _thing_ with Kimball, remember? Right now.”

For a moment, Matthews looked at the dark-skinned lieutenant with a clueless expression before understanding finally dawned in his eyes. From beneath his glasses, he shot Bitters a grateful look. “Right! The…the thing. _That_ thing! I’d completely forgotten!” He said hastily, “Th—thanks, Bitters.”

Miller looked rather disappointed by the turn of events, but he dropped his hold on the younger, auburn-haired Elvari before getting up from the table himself, “Another time, then.”

With a smirk directed towards Bitters that caused the Arenian to clench his jaw tightly while no doubt leaving indents of fingers on his tray, Miller departed from the mess hall. The two lieutenants stood there awkwardly, as if tension was being slowly eased out of the room.

Matthews let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders sagging somewhat, “Th—thanks again.”

“No problem.” Bitters glanced over at his friend’s way too pale face, frown deepening, “You okay?”

“F—fine.” He was quick to respond, but it didn’t take an Elvari’s innate empathic skills to tell that Matthews was lying.

“Did the question make you feel uncomfortable on account of your telepathy?” Bitters questioned, curiosity getting the better of him.

He knew from what Palomo had told him that, even by Elvari standards, Matthews’ abilities were considered extremely potent. The young man had even secluded himself from most people as a child until he had learned to shield himself mentally.

Matthews gave a shaky nod, frowning himself now, “I usually avoid a lot of crowded places because of it.”

Bitters said nothing, contemplating how that must suck for the slightly younger Elvari. Perhaps what he was thinking showed in his body language, or maybe Matthews had picked up on it, because the auburn-haired rookie was quick to assure Bitters, “That’s…that’s mostly just a precaution though! I can usually hang out in crowds just fine now. Really!” He paused a second later, quick to change topics, “Um, you don’t think…? There’s maybe…something _wrong_ with him?”

That question pulled Bitters’ focus back to the conversation at hand, and he frowned, “Who? Miller?”

Matthews gave a slight nod, looking worriedly over at where the new soldier had exited the mess hall.

“What do you mean?” Bitters couldn’t help but tense up instinctively at the direction their talk was taking.

Matthews shrugged his shoulders helplessly, “It’s just that there’s this _oddness_ about him I can’t place.” He tried explaining.

Bitters glanced over at the direction that Miller had sauntered off in. Sure, he admittedly didn’t like the guy. But, something about _Matthews_ worrying about Miller made him even more anxious and upset than he’d ever care to admit.

“Miller _might_ be an asshole, Matthews,” Bitters tried going for the reassuring route, “But that’s probably it.”

Matthews nodded his head but remained silent, not looking all that convinced. Bitters’ frown only deepened, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his assessment about Miller just then was even right given his own thoughts on the guy.

*****

“…And here they are, right where we left ‘em!” Sarge let out a small whoop of victory as the group approached the mechs, his robot soldier casting a disbelieving look his way.

“¿Dónde más estarían? No es como si alguien pudiera robar las llaves e ir a dar un paseo.” _{“Where else would they be? It’s not like someone can just steal the keys and go for a joyride.”}_

“Stop.” Carolina, who had been in front of the group, held out an arm to block the red-armored man from charging forward towards where the Warthog was waiting, “We’re not alone here.”

“Oh?” Donut asked, leaning forward to see who she was talking about, “Man, we just keep getting beaten off to the punch!”

“I believe the actual term is simply _“beaten to the punch.”_ ” Sheila noted as the others simply groaned in response to Donut’s innocent innuendo.

“That too, Sheila. That too.” The pink-armored soldier was quick to reply, patting the brunette on the shoulder as if he understood she was correcting his phrasing. …He didn’t. Obviously.

Lopez turned to Sheila then, a hint of desperation in his electronic voice as he pleaded with the petite Veroni.

“Por favor, no lo animes, te lo suplico.” _{“Please don’t encourage him, I’m begging you.”}_

At first, Dexter Grif wasn’t paying much attention at all to the conversation going on around him. He was solely focused on the last image of _Simmons_ he had floating in his mind. He needed to get to and secure Orange. Then they would scour the entire colony grounds to find the redheaded Strassian. Things would be okay then. They just fucking _had_ to be…

“Why are they looking at Maroon?”

Doc’s curious inquiry suddenly jolted Grif out of his troubled thoughts as he peered in the direction that the brown-haired medic indicated.

Sure enough, there were two people standing right in front of _Simmons’_ mech. And one of them was…

“Simmons!” Grif couldn’t help but shout out, a strong sense of relief flooding through him at the sight of the taller man standing there.

“Is that blood?” Tucker squinted at the splotch of drying crimson on the Strassian’s clothing, “Fuck! You weren’t kidding about him being injured!”

“Never mind that _now_ , Tucker.” Tex told the dark-skinned man sharply, “Pay attention to the asshole standing next to him!”

“He has a shark for a face.” Caboose muttered, as if that made any sense at all.

And, for the first time since his eyes had landed on Simmons, Grif turned his attention to the other person standing there with the redhead, a sudden feeling of dread overpowering everything else. Sure enough, it was fucking _Sharkface_ of all people.

“Simmons! What the fuck are you doing?” Grif called out urgently, panic rising in his voice, “Fucking _run_!”

Simmons only turned his head slightly, and Grif started at how it didn’t appear as if the other mech pilot had really even seen or heard him. The Strassian’s green eyes had a rather glassy, glazed-over look in them as opposed to the vibrant fire that Grif would normally often lose himself in. The image made his stomach drop.

Sharkface grabbed onto Simmons’ arm and pulled him along into Maroon’s open cockpit, throwing the redhead bodily into the seat. Here, Simmons did wince slightly, but the grimace quickly faded from his features as if it had never even been there.

“Do it.” Sharkface said to Simmons in a loud enough voice for the group to hear as the cockpit closed, sealing the two inside.

“Shit!” Washington seemed to pick up on what was about to happen well before the others as Maroon’s arm pulled back, “Everyone, scatter!”

Grif was moving forward towards Maroon, towards _Simmons_ as the punch landed with Sarge of all people in the process of holding the human back with a strangled curse.

The ground below the mech pilot group buckled and quaked violently with the blow from Maroon, a spider-web of cracks blossoming out from the impact site of the mech’s fist. Everything sank and, suddenly, there was no more ground beneath their feet.

As the darkness below swallowed up both mechs _and_ people alike, there was only one thing that was on Grif’s mind before complete and utter darkness overtook him.

_“SIMMONS!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I am still quite mean to poor Simmons in this fic! *hugs him* So, even though Price healed him, it’s definitely obvious by this point that the Counselor is up to no good. Also, lol…sure, Bitters, you aren’t jealous in the slightest! XD He should probably listen to Matthews a bit more when it comes to Miller, yes? I’m sorry for the massive cliffhanger, but it was too good of a stopping point to pass up!
> 
> I will be leaving for a trip later on this Thursday and won’t be having my computer with me, so I apologize in advance if my commenting to anything is sporadic for the next few days.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading this story! :)


	17. (Always) A Trap {Part Eight}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The office that served as leadership central for the planet of Chorus was a rather large, expansive piece of real estate.

Granted, Leonard Church knew that largely had to do with the fact that, in the years before he, his sister, and their ragtag group of Project Freelancer survivors had made it to Chorus from Earth—the fledgling little colony world had actually had two elected leaders.

The cobalt-wearing man couldn’t help but spare another glance at the unoccupied desk that took up half of the office. The object was now devoid of personal artifacts, but whenever he came up here the desk’s surface was always polished to a fine, metallic sheen. As if its former occupant would come waltzing back in for work like business as usual any day now.

From what Church was able to gleam about the Elvari known as Donald Doyle, the man had always been a stickler for keeping things neat and organized. Evidently, Kimball had wanted to ensure that some of Doyle’s habits were carried on. At least when it came to the space that he had once occupied.

No one had _ever_ , as far as Church knew, broached removing said desk from the office once it had been decided that Vanessa Kimball would remain as the only leader of Chorus following Doyle’s unfortunate passing. Apparently, the thought had never crossed her mind either. Funny. She never struck him as the sentimental type, but Kimball was full of surprises.

He recalled that the asshole Director of Project Freelancer, Church’s “father” for lack of a better term _(though Church had a string of more colorful descriptors at the ready should elaboration_ ever _be needed)_ , had a fairly large office too. But it had always been too cold, too sterile, and altogether too devoid of life for Church’s liking. Then again, the Director _had_ been a secretive, self-absorbed mother fucker. The goateed man hadn’t even liked being in the Director’s presence for more than a second anyway. It was no wonder that the Veroni man’s workspace was as suffocating and stifling as his personality.

Church interrupted his familial nostalgia trip by glancing from Doyle’s pristine, obviously well-maintained desk to Kimball’s messy, disorganized one. The Elvari swore she had a system, but it was one that only Carolina had ever bothered seriously trying to learn. Suddenly, his past seemed distant and cold. There was so much more life here in Chorus, so much more fucking _heart_ than he could ever associate with Freelancer.

Maybe that was why Church personally didn’t mind moments like this, where he was just standing around like a total jackass with nothing to do even though in other circumstances he would be frustrated as hell.

No, currently he was only growing slightly more agitated, more like worried, as the seconds that he and Kimball remained in relatively companionable silence continued to kick by. His blue eyes darted to the communication monitor, willing it to come to vibrant life.

It didn’t, however, because Church’s non-existent powers of persuasion over inanimate objects failed him once again. Or they didn’t. He wasn’t sure how that really worked, and he didn’t actually care all that much to begin with.

Kimball, who had joined him in staring at the monitor, pulled away her dark-eyed gaze to glance down at the tornado of documents and datapads on her desk’s surface.

“They’re late.” She stated the obvious under her breath not a moment later, the frown on her face making it quite apparent as to what she thought of the situation.

“Yeah, no fucking shit.” Church noted the same in his colorful way, ignoring the deepening of the perpetually downward motion of his own mouth. Tex often teased he must have been born with a scowl on his face, always amused by his counter that she must have been born punching holes through metal. Deciding that maybe now wasn’t the best time to be dwelling on an infuriatingly hot blond Veroni who could kick his ass whenever she liked, Church instead asked, “Think we should be worried?”

He was going to be regardless because those idiots were his friends and family, but right now his brain was still trying to gauge just _how_ fucking worried they should all be.

The dark-skinned Elvari thought about his question for a moment, lacing her long fingers together on top of the messy pile strewn about her desk, “Ideally, I’d like to say no because I _do_ trust Carolina and the others, but…”

“Something is telling you that some weird shit is probably going down.” Church surmised for Kimball after the dark-skinned woman trailed off.

She chose to say nothing verbally in response to that, simply nodding her head in agreement.

It was probably that very same trust that caused Kimball’s hesitation. After all, Trocadero was supposed to be a simple, routine mission. One in which a certain _someone_ should have been able to easily message them on time.

If his sister wasn’t able to contact them like she had assured she would following _Price’s_ involvement, well then that was definitely cause for concern. After all, both of the people in this space trusted Carolina quite a lot for two very different, but no less important, reasons.

Church closed his eyes briefly before slumping into the chair that Kimball had offered him when he had first entered her office. Another few seconds ticked by, the comm remaining aggravatingly silent. His frown deepened.

“I say trust your fucking instincts then.” Church advised. It was sound advice. After all, who knew what kind of trouble he could have avoided in the past if he had simply done just that?

Kimball raised an eyebrow curiously as Church mentally readied himself to explain his viewpoint further…

_“I’m sorry to say that we’ll need to worry about ourselves first and foremost!”_

Doctor Emily Grey’s voice was its usual cheerful frenzy of words despite what she had just stated as the dark-skinned Veroni came racing through office doors that were still in the process of opening.

Church nearly toppled out of his chair at the woman’s sudden intrusion, “Fuck! How is it that you manage to scare the living shit out of me every goddamn time I see you?”

“Oh, poor reaction time and high stress levels would be my guess.” Doctor Grey tapped thoughtfully at one of the softly glowing purple lines on her face as she stopped just short of running into Kimball’s desk, “Now that I think about it, you really are in need of an actual physical this year.”

…Somehow, he’d rather just go to Doc for that. At least Church would get some orange juice and yoga pointers out of it without the threat of potential dissection.

“Never mind that right now!” Kimball’s urgent voice snapped both of the Veronis’ attentions back to her, “Doctor Grey, you were saying earlier…?”

At her prompting, vivid realization blossomed across the genius’ face, “Well, there isn’t much to do at the hospital right now, so I’ve been up to my usual pastime. You know, monitoring outgoing planetary transmissions for funsies?”

Both Kimball and Church shot each other slightly alarmed glances. They had not, in fact, known that Doctor Grey did such a thing to kill time. Church had kind of hoped he could have gone his whole life without knowing what the scary doctor lady was up to in her spare time for _“funsies.”_ For the preservation of his remaining, tentative grip on sanity and all of that.

“On a rather noteworthy frequency, there were quite a few common catchphrases being used. Most likely a code of some kind.” Doctor Grey concluded over their slight trepidation, her voice slightly sing-song in delivery.

The serious implication of her words put the entire matter in a whole new perspective, especially since, not even a second later, there was the telltale sound of an alarm going off in the distance.

“It’s just too bad that things are often so _busy_ with sudden medical emergencies this time of year.” Grey noted in mild exasperation as one of Kimball’s office monitors flared to colorful life with all sorts of security updates.

Church rolled his eyes, sighed, and subsequently swore all at once.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons remained standing on the catwalk as he stared up in awe at the gigantic, humanoid machine that he had just helped to bring back. It was garbed in what appeared to be maroon armor, reminiscent of the very kind he wore.

Everything that had happened recently was _still_ very much a blur in his mind. If he closed his eyes, Simmons was greeted by quickly moving images and a constant rush of emotions.

Still, he couldn’t believe that such an incredible piece of technology had actually responded to him. The idea of him being a pilot of anything so astounding was nearly beyond belief. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mech. He remained transfixed in the hangar, having a strange sense of déjà vu as he continued to gaze up at the machine.

The redhead was truly grateful that Price had given him some time to think by himself. He needed an opportunity to ponder things.

Though, right now, all he could really think about was how it had been a shame they had been in such a hurry to retrieve the mech. He hadn’t even had time to process his strange new surroundings before they had been flying here, to this unknown place.

Simmons couldn’t be sure, but hadn’t there been other mechs and people there too? If that had been the case, taking off like they had was a definite safety risk!

A part of Simmons desperately wanted to assist Price and his men, since they had helped him so much just by freeing him. But, as a wave of monstrous figures and tinier forms all in differing colors swam in a blurred-up mess in his head, Simmons couldn’t help but feel like _something_ was off.

Hadn’t someone back there when they were retrieving the mech even called out his name? Did he know them, or…?

His confused jumble of thoughts came to a screeching halt when he felt a sharp, _stabbing_ pain close by his belly. Simmons dropped to the floor of the catwalk, one hand loosely gripping the railing while the other came to rest at the ache at his side. He winced, the pain and discomfort oddly familiar.

…Was this an aftereffect of the Tevkask? Simmons’ green eyes widened in alarm at the thought. He hadn’t thought that he had been on it long enough for any long lasting changes to occur…!

_“Are you all right?”_

A gruff voice momentarily distracted him from his panicked thoughts. Simmons glanced up to see the rather intimidating Sharkface looking down impassively at him.

Sharkface looked positively uncomfortable by the turn of events, as the brown-haired man lowered his good eye’s gaze towards the floor below, “Want me to get the doc, or…?”

With effort, Simmons shook his head and rose up on shaky feet. He wiped away an embarrassing bead of sweat from his clammy forehead, “Tha—thanks, but please don’t.” He managed to get out, “It’s probably…just an aftereffect of Tevkask ingestion.”

Simmons decided not to mention that prolonged exposure to the drug forcibly changed a Strassian’s body similarly to how finding a mate did. It still upset him that his father had decided he would have been better served as breeding stock than anything else…

“Right. Tevkask.” There was a momentarily unreadable look on the scarred man’s face that Simmons wasn’t sure what to make of. It was probably either disgust or pity, and he couldn’t decide which would be worse. But then Sharkface looked at him appraisingly, “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot. You even smell a little different from the other Blue Dots I’ve been around before.”

Simmons frowned slightly at the rather derogatory term for Strassians, though at the same time he had to suppress a shiver at the remark about his scent being different. He hadn’t met any potential mates that he was aware of, so _that_ must have all been the Tevkask’s doing. He felt himself flushing from the shame of it all over again as he tried willing his body’s frustratingly pointless mutation down.

Sharkface, meanwhile, gave Simmons a considering look. Apparently he had decided to pay no heed to the obvious internal dilemma raging on inside the younger redhead. “If you take your hand off of that railing in the next two seconds, then I won’t go and get Price.” The half-Arenian finally offered.

Simmons blinked at the proffered deal before he shakily nodded his head. He would prefer not bothering Price if he could avoid it as he was sure he must be busy with whatever else his group was doing here. The Strassian hesitatingly let go of the railing that he had been supporting himself upright with, steadying his wobbly legs a moment later.

Sharkface looked him over approvingly before hitting his shoulder in a motion that took all of Simmons’ strength not to topple over with, “You’re tougher than you look.”

Simmons’ natural reaction to the praise was a hesitating smile, his cheeks feeling warm again. It was as if he was back home with his father again. How pathetic…

He still felt as though something was strangely off, but he couldn’t place his finger on what it was.

Someone was moving what looked to be an orange…traffic cone down below, and he frowned as an all too blurry figure filled his mind. He couldn’t place who the figure was or what they really looked like, but there was an odd sense of urgency flooding his brain and chest.

“I think it can be arranged for you see the test results from the mech, if you want.” Sharkface said, obviously still talking to the redhead and unaware that Simmons’ mind had been somewhere else.

Simmons did his best to unsuccessfully shove the orange form to the back of his mind in order to cover up the unease that he was feeling in front of Sharkface. He nodded his head earnestly instead, hoping that did the trick as he followed the other man like a lost puppy.

*****

Beyond being thankful for having retrieved her helmet earlier, Agent Carolina’s thoughts were slow to gel following the rather tumultuous fall that their group had just taken.

Something, most likely _someone_ , was definitely fucking with them on Trocadero. Given what had just happened with Simmons, she was beyond tired of it. All that mattered to her now was getting _all_ of her team off of this planet while hopefully getting some much needed payback along the way.

She knew that would probably be easier said than done as she glanced up at the cavernous, rocky ceiling far above her head. Thank fuck that they had all been wearing their armor. Her joints and muscles ached as it was, she didn’t even want to think of how much worse things _could_ have been.

There was a loud moan off to her right. The cyan-armored woman turned her head towards that direction as she gingerly pulled herself up off the ground. She couldn’t make out anyone, meaning that they must be further inside the cavernous space.

It looked like Carolina had somehow ended up falling into what appeared to be an underground chasm following Maroon’s stomp and takeoff. Much of the debris that would have fallen down along with the half-human, half-Veroni had evidently been caught by the rocks making up the cavern’s roof. The rest of it had fallen down into a huge barrier off to the right.

She had no doubt that was where a majority of the mechs were seeing as how she could make out the blue top half of Freckles partially buried in the crumbling mess.

She spotted two forms in pink and purple huddled in front of the mech, as if the robot’s massive form had helped to shield them in some small way. The moaning seemed to be coming from the pink-armored Donut since he was gripping his shoulder tightly.

“Doc! Donut!” Carolina was racing towards them over the debris-strewn floor as soon as she saw the telltale signs of red seeping through Donut’s gauntleted fingers, ignoring her own aching body’s protests.

“H—hey, Carolina!” The younger Elvari’s voice was laced with false cheer and bravado despite his pain, “That’s certainly one way to bottom, huh?”

“The fall reopened his gunshot wound.” Doc informed her, his tone a bit more hurried and urgent than Carolina was used to as he focused all of his attention on trying to stop Donut’s bleeding.

“Oh, this is nothing!” Donut tried lightening the somber mood, though the dirty blond hissed in pain a second later when Doc forced his hand away from the wound to get a better look at it, “I bet Doc here is an expert at plugging holes over and over again!”

The blush was evident in the brown-haired Elvari’s voice when he responded, “W—well, I’m not sure if that’s how I’d word it, but…”

“Come on, Doc, have faith in yourself!” Donut leaned his helmeted head close to Doc’s purple one to stage-whisper, “I believe in you!”

Seeing as how Donut seemed to be in decent condition despite his injury, and even with his stuttered out _“Can I ask you why?”_ that Doc responded with, Doc seemed to have the medical situation as under control as it was going to be.

Carolina took another moment to glance at their surroundings, frowning all the while. There were no signs of the others, which either meant that they had fallen into other areas of the cavern or that they had been buried along with the other mechs.

The redhead was once again thankful that they had all been wearing their armor.

“Will you both be all right to move soon?” Carolina asked the pair tersely, fingers twitching uncomfortably at her sides at her current inability to be of more help.

“Yep!” Donut assured her, his brightness sounding more genuine now, “I was totally right about Doc’s ability to plug holes!”

“I’ve stopped the bleeding, at least.” Doc ignored the innuendo from Donut this time, sounding both surprised and relieved by his medical accomplishment.

Carolina nodded, glad that the situation hadn’t been as serious as it could have been. She extended her arms down to the two men awkwardly to help them both up.

_“And I have to ask you yet again, Agent Carolina,”_ a cold, impossibly familiar voice stated from the left side of the cavern, _“Just what is it exactly that you’re doing here?”_

Carolina stiffened considerably as her head jerked up, coming face-to-face with the impassive stare of the Director. Doc and Donut remained rooted to the ground, hands clasped around hers, their shocked gazes also pointed in the same direction.

“You’re both seeing them too, right?” Doc asked out loud in a tiny, hesitant voice.

Two ghosts. Carolina’s breath froze in her throat. Sure enough, _York_ was standing alongside the Director. His one good eye seemed to lock onto her green ones through her visor as he smiled directly towards her and waved.

*****

True to its namesake, the Tank had survived the tremendous fall into the underground cavern in near mint condition. Really, even though Sheila knew the specs on her particular mech by heart now, including all of its various modifications and upgrades, it was still something to behold.

Though, truthfully, she knew that their current situation left precious little time for such things.

She blinked up at the brown-armored figure that framed her field of vision now that the blurriness in her eyesight had dissipated. Lopez towered over her, both robotic arms framing either side of her helmeted head. The last bit of rock and soil that had fallen down onto his back due to their tumble cascaded downward to somewhere close by their legs.

Once her brain started processing things efficiently again, the petite Veroni in gunmetal green armor slid out from underneath the protective form of Lopez’s body. “Lopez!” She exclaimed as she crouched into a sitting position a moment later, reaching carefully out towards his shoulder, “You’re not hurt, are you?”

There was an amused sort of electronic huff that came from the robot’s helmet as he moved into a sitting position next to her and Tank. He carelessly shrugged off some more dirt from his joints.

“Debería preguntarte eso, creo.” _{“I should be asking you that, I think.”}_

Sheila couldn’t help the slight, fond smile that crept its way onto her face, “Yes, well, _someone_ here decided to gallantly shield me.”

The robot bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement, and Sheila was grateful that her helmet hid her reactionary blush from view. What Lopez had done was actually rather sweet, but what if he had been damaged in the process? She was torn between wanting to hug him or scold him.

“Thank you.” She stated quietly instead, looking at the ground between them.

“En cualquier momento.” _{“Anytime.”}_

Sheila then let out a deep breath that she hadn’t even known she had been holding, ignoring the loudness of her thudding heart in her ears.

“At any rate, we can probably use Tank to help us dig the others out if they are close by.” She stated, standing up to reach out to the metal shielding of her mech.

_“Hello, Sheila.”_

Lopez swore under his breath in Spanish at the polite, feminine voice that greeted the Veroni mech pilot.

Sheila froze, letting out another shaky breath of air before slowly turning to face a person she knew couldn’t actually be standing there with them in the cavern.

Her older sister’s kind smile greeted her back, _“It has been a while, hasn’t it?”_

*****

As far as falling to your doom scenarios went, Lavernius Tucker supposed that things could have gone a _whole_ lot worse. For starters, they could have died and that really would have sucked major balls. So, yeah, props for _that_ not happening.

On the other hand, he was _now_ stranded on a smaller-than-he’d-like ledge overlooking another enormous fall down below with only Washington and Caboose for company. The others, along with the mechs, seemed to be nowhere in sight.

That probably meant…

The half-Strassian cautiously tilted his head down to gaze at the cavern below from the very edge of the cliff, pulling away a second later before the view made him sick. That most likely meant that the rest of their group was down _there_ somewhere. Tucker gulped and hoped that they were all okay. Thank fuck for armor and all of that, huh?

Behind him, Washington and Caboose started to stir. The Strassian bounded up on his feet almost instantly, though that hardly caught Tucker off-guard anymore. Dude always seemed primed for something. Washington was a walking paranoid mess at the best of times.

In any other instance, Tucker might have thought of a killer joke about what Washington _should_ be getting ready for instead, but this hardly seemed like the best time so he filed it away in his brain for later.

“Are you two all right?” The steel-with-yellow-tinge-armored Freelancer questioned, whipping his head around to both Tucker and Caboose as if he could somehow assess their conditions through their armor.

Tucker ignored the part of his brain that oh-so-helpfully told him he _wanted_ Washington’s gray eyes peering at him like that later on when he was out of armor.

“I don’t know, dude. What the fuck do you think, given what’s happened?” Tucker asked instead, raising a dark eyebrow.

Washington’s shoulders slumped, “I…I know that, Tucker. I—”

Okay, so now Tucker felt like a major dick on top of everything else. He sighed in frustration, knowing that Washington was just as concerned about everyone else being stuck down here and separated as he was. No doubt he was concerned about Simmons looking all mind controlled too.

Before the teal-armored man could awkwardly get out an apology for his sarcasm, Caboose’s shoulders sagged, “Everyone’s…gone again.”

Oh, shit.

At the despondent tone in the usually quite cheerful, younger Arenian’s voice, both men turned to glance at one another. Hadn’t Church mentioned before about how Caboose and Freckles had been stuck all alone on some moon colony for who knew how long…?

Both Tucker and Washington moved as one to get to Caboose at the same time, reaching upwards to grab reassuringly at Caboose’s shoulders even if he couldn’t exactly feel the motion all too well in his blue armor.

“I know, buddy.” Tucker started as he patted Caboose’s shoulder in a sort-of very awkward way, “But they’re going to be fine, okay?”

“We’ll find them, Caboose.” Washington reassured the taller male just as awkwardly as Tucker had.

The two men glanced at one another before quickly glancing away again as Caboose nodded his head slowly.

Tucker turned to Washington again, “Any clue as to what we should do now, or…?”

Off the cliff’s wall, there appeared to be a small tunnel of sorts hewn out of the rock. Tucker hadn’t paid it much attention before, but now that he did his voice trailed off. Was there something actually _glowing_ inside of it? Eerie blue light had started to pulsate just then around the opening, and he could only imagine the commentary Donut might have given had he been around to see it.

Fuck. Knowing this planet, that couldn’t be anything good.

Caboose turned around and noticed the light as well, “Oh, someone is coming to meet us!” He exclaimed excitedly, breaking free of the loose hands still gripping his shoulders as he sprinted with long-legged strides into the tunnel itself.

“Goddamn it! Caboose!” Tucker shouted, taking two hurried steps after him. Sometimes, the blue-armored young man was even more childish than Junior. At least he knew his kid had the common sense _not_ to go running towards strangely glowing who-knows-what.

The dark-skinned man paused when he noticed that Washington was making no attempts to do the same. Agitation built up inside the half-human, half-Strassian. He turned to Washington to tell him to hurry the fuck up before Caboose went and somehow got himself killed…

But he stopped when he saw Washington’s visor glued to the cliff edge, his whole body completely rigid.

A hulking figure in white armor with an intimidating domed visor, who most definitely had _not_ been there before, was now standing on the ledge and silently regarding the two of them.

*****

_Simmons stood over him, desperately trying to pull him out of his nightmare. Grif could only watch on as history repeated itself._

_The knife that he still had no idea where it came from was thrust into Simmons’ side by his own fucking hand. The blood pooled at his feet as the lanky redhead collapsed…_

_But then, this time, Simmons was staring up at him with unseeing eyes. The floor dropped out beneath their feet before the knife even fell from his limp, shaking fingers._

“Simmons!” Dexter Grif gasped as he woke up, choking on the Strassian’s name as a new wave of guilt and panic washed over him.

He was suffocating, and he couldn’t even wipe the beads of cold sweat off of his forehead thanks to his stupid, fucking helmet…

“Hmph. Finally back in the land of the living, dirtbag?” Sarge’s gruff voice asked not a moment later.

The older Arenian stood off to the side, peering down at Grif with red-armored arms crossed over his chest and a scowl no doubt covering up his features behind his helmet. Thankfully, though, Sarge chose not to comment on Grif’s sudden outburst.

“It’s a sign that the universe has a cruel, sadistic sense of humor, us getting stuck down here together.” Sarge lamented instead, turning away so that Grif could collect himself.

The chubby human instinctively rolled his dark eyes, though oddly enough Sarge’s presence did seem to do the trick of getting his brain back on the right track.

“Any idea on what we do now?” Grif heard himself ask since they _definitely_ needed to get out of this fucking cavern and find Simmons fast…

The two men were standing by an outcropping of rock that seemed to tower above them quite some ways. Sarge glanced upwards, motioning with a tilt of his head towards what appeared to be a small ledge high above.

“I say we get to climbing.” He stated matter-of-factly, already reaching out to look for handholds in the wall before them.

“Of course we fucking do.” Grif sighed and complained outwardly, but the orange-armored man was already joining Sarge at the wall—intently trying to focus on the task at hand instead of on the nightmare that he had only recently woken up from.

Mentally, Grif tried telling Simmons to hold on for just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Simmons, though it really kind of seems like that should be _“poor everyone”_ at this point because there is definitely something that is totally trying to mess with them! 0_0; Plus, something is happening back on Chorus too!
> 
> …I promise, it will totally all make sense the further along in this story arc we get. XD Maybe. Hopefully! XD
> 
> Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read this extremely rambling, head-trippy story of mine! :D


	18. (Always) A Trap {Part Nine}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

For a few brief but altogether tense moments within the cavernous expanse that Lopez and Sheila had both fallen into along with the petite Veroni’s mech, there was only suffocating silence.

That silence was mostly due to the appearance of the steel-colored cloth wrapped female with incandescently glowing Veroni lines of pure white along the visible portions of her skin. The newcomer’s presence certainly had Sheila desperately wracking her brain for something, _anything_ to do or say.

After all, here was her long missing sister. The sister that so many of their friends and family had given up on, who they all thought was tragically lost forever. After having contemplated for so many years just what Sheila would say if she ever saw her sibling again, even before Tank had practically fallen into her lap and her arrival on Chorus, now the Veroni found that every single word or question she might have wanted to voice had well and truly fled her mind.

She couldn’t even bring herself to delve into _how_ Filss was even here to begin with. It made absolutely no sense at all, it…

“Sheila.” _{“Sheila.”}_

Lopez stirred next to her, interrupting her thoughts. The brown-armored robot rose to his feet as the gunmetal green-lined brunette continued to also shakily do so to better face Filss. He sounded worried, and in any other instance Sheila may have felt somewhat flattered or even rather bashful at that sort of attention being directed towards her person.

But, right now? Right now she needed to concentrate.

Sheila swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly drier than even a dust-filled cavern could adequately explain, “I…I don’t understand.” She stated softly despite the effort it took, “H—how…?”

_“Why have you not been looking for me?”_

Her older sister’s sudden question was just as unexpected as her appearance was, and Sheila blinked in the wake of the quiet, accusatory tone thrown her way.

Denial was quick on her tongue. What else had she been doing _since_ Filss had just gone and vanished from their home world? Not a day had gone by since then in which Sheila hadn’t thought of the sibling who had always been so thoughtful as to leave a message whenever she so much as stepped out of their family living quarters before.

She took a shaky step forward, “I…I have been.”

Filss cocked her head to the side, her response more merciless than Sheila had _ever_ heard from her before, _“Wouldn’t there have been some progress then, if that were even remotely true?”_

Guilt and regret hit Sheila in the face as stingingly sharp as a physical slap might have. She knew that what Filss was saying wasn’t the truth, but that nagging doubt that she always felt bubbled to the surface. If she only _tried_ that much harder every day, would she have figured something out by now? If she had chosen a different fork in the metaphorical road so to speak, if…

“F—Filss…”

Just as Sheila was about to bridge the gap between her sibling and herself in a few stumbling, desperate strides, a heavy hand grasped her elbow and prevented her from doing so. She spun around to face Lopez, to demand that he _please_ just not interfere in so personal a matter, but his emphatically shaking head caused the words to halt on her tongue.

“Ella no está realmente aquí, Sheila.” _{“She isn’t really here, Sheila.”}_

His electronic voice was oddly gentle, but the words he spoke had her scrunching up her eyebrows as she tried to process their meaning. Since she had gone to the trouble of studying various human languages as a child and had even taken the time to upload a translation program for many of them into her nanite system, that wasn’t usually the case with Lopez. But, it had to be a translation error given that Filss was _here_ …

“Of course she—” Sheila said as she turned her head back in the other Veroni’s direction again without finishing her statement of the obvious.

Lopez’s grip tightened marginally, as though afraid a panicked and disbelieving Sheila might try to bolt and run straight into a trap.

“No he recibido una firma de calor de ella todo este tiempo.” _{“I haven’t gotten a heat signature from her this entire time.”}_ He informed her calmly, tilting his head slightly over in Filss’ direction as well, “Si intentas usar tu tecnología, deberías ver eso también.” _{“If you try using your technopathy, you should see that too.”}_

The so-called _“technopathy”_ that all Veroni possessed was due to the symbiotic relationship they had with the self-replicating nanites coursing through their blood. It made them more connected and aware of technology than other species were on a daily basis, and served as the main reason behind their distinctive glowing body markings.

Filss’ markings were practically burning to a blinding degree on her face as Sheila turned once again to regard her. She felt a slight rush of heat as no doubt her own lined features were now doing the same behind her helmet, her vision altering to take in the temperature readouts of everything around them. When they fixed on where she knew her sister to be standing, it was as if she was perceiving nothing but empty air.

_“Sheila.”_ Filss’ voice nearly pleaded then, coming from out of nowhere right before Sheila’s eyesight returned to normal and she could make out her figure once more.

Only it wasn’t _her_ , was it? She shook slightly at the thought, wondering just what all of this could even mean.

Lopez’s hand let go of her elbow then, resting awkwardly on her shoulder instead. He gave a brief squeeze.

“Encontraremos el Filss real de alguna manera.” _{“We’ll find the real Filss somehow.”}_

Sheila nodded her head in agreement, her lips faintly curving upwards in response to the surprisingly touching gesture.

The fake image of her elder sister opened her mouth again as if to speak, but suddenly vanished into thin air as a wall of debris behind her exploded outwards.

Tex stood in the middle of the swirl of dust that followed, her black gloved hand still clenched tightly in a fist before her. She slowly lowered it when she saw the two figures standing there, “You guys all right?”

As Sheila nodded in response, Lopez seemed to be openly gaping at the blond-haired Veroni with glowing black lines on her face as much as someone with a helmet for a head could.

“Santa mierda ¿En serio solo te abriste paso a través de una pared de roca?” _{“Holy shit. Did you seriously just punch your way through a rock wall?”}_

Tex flashed a quick look of relief their way before she stepped further into the space through the entryway that she had just provided for herself. Brown eyes landed on a relatively uncovered Tank, and she smirked in obvious satisfaction at the discovery, “Great. Hopefully we can use this to reach the others.”

*****

“It seems as if the planet of Chorus takes care of their resources well.” Price noted out loud in a thoughtful manner as he looked over the datapad that he had been handed. The screen showed the results of the preliminary scans that had been conducted on the recently retrieved maroon-colored mech, “Everything seems to be far above even standard procedural regulations so far.”

The room that they were currently in was located off to the side of the facility’s hangar area, and Richard “Dick” Simmons couldn’t help but shoot a quick glance in that direction through the large viewing window to catch a sight of the immensely tall, humanoid figure still standing where he had brought it in earlier. Various personnel were running around underfoot, and a part of him wondered why seeing them so close to the mech made him rather anxious.

That was silly of him, after all. Wasn’t it?

The redhead shook his head to try and dispel the fog of confusion and unease that was surrounding his thoughts, turning back around to regard Price instead. Sharkface was leaning over the dark-skinned man’s shoulder to take in the specs on the datapad as well, a contemplative grimace clouding over his scarred features.

“C—Chorus?” Simmons managed to nervously repeat out loud, unsure as to why that particular name seemed to strike such an odd chord of familiarity with him.

Price turned off the datapad, evidently before Sharkface had finished reading it if the agitated growl he gave was any indication. The smaller, dark-skinned man turned to look out at what was transpiring in the hangar himself, hands folded neatly behind his back after he set the powered down datapad onto a table nearby.

“Nothing you need to be concerned with, Richard.” Price spoke calmly over his shoulder in response to Simmons’ query.

“Especially given that those poor shmucks’ days are well and truly numbered.”

Simmons started at the smug voice that spoke up then following the door to the room opening behind the three of them. A somewhat thin, smaller-statured man with brown hair and a painfully sharp gaze stood in the entryway, donned in steel and orange.

Simmons’ stomach twisted painfully at the sight of the orange color in particular, though he couldn’t figure out _why_. Something about the unknown man’s demeanor was sending alarm bells through his brain that thoroughly distracted him from that train of thought a mere moment later.

“Oh, great.” Sharkface’s voice was laced with sarcasm and unrestrained annoyance, “It figures you’d show up now.”

“Always _such_ a pleasure.” The man quipped back, and from the looks that both were giving the other, Simmons could tell that only the barest modicum of restraint was keeping the two from attempting to kill one another.

The Strassian gulped nervously, wishing, not for the first time, that he could just turn invisible.

“Felix. Welcome.” Price stated cordially as he turned to face the newcomer in a way that Simmons suspected was trying to divert attention from the suddenly thick wave of hostility in the air, “We were not expecting you quite so soon.”

The armored man called Felix gave a careless shrug in response, “Yeah, well, long transport rides through space make me rather antsy. I figured I’d sneak on ahead and give you the good news in person because I’m just _that_ considerate and generous of a human being.”

Sharkface rolled his good eye at the grand, magnanimous tone that the other man had used.

Felix carried on as if he hadn’t noticed the gesture despite a cold glint in his eyes revealing otherwise, “The other plan is moving along nicely. Locus just contacted us that he got planet-side without any problems.” He smirked, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “So it’s only a matter of time before we get our hands on all the intel we could possibly ever want.”

The burnt brown-haired man scoffed disinterestedly at the news, “I could fucking care less. I just want that whole place to fry.”

“Still have that one-track mind, I see.” Felix looked rather unimpressed, “You _might_ want to at least put some variety into your revenge plans every once in a while. You know, try to keep things from getting stale?”

As Sharkface glowered at Felix for his mocking remark, Simmons remained frozen where he was with an achingly nervous, frantic pounding starting up in his chest at the direction the conversation had gone in. These guys _had_ helped him, right? So…

He gulped and straightened his back to the point of pain when Felix’s disregarding look settled on him. “Fucking _really_ , Price?” He asked a second later in mock disbelief, “This scrawny Blue Dotted beanpole was the best you could do?”

Simmons’ mouth opened in shock, unsure of how to respond. He quickly closed it, however, getting the distinct impression from the way that this Felix guy was staring at him like he was a broken toy that needed to be tossed aside _(how surprisingly like his father’s regard for him, a distant part of him thought painfully)_ , speaking up wouldn’t have been in his best interest.

“His being a Strassian certainly isn’t ideal given Charon’s goals,” Price noted a moment later, much to Simmons’ shock, “But his underlying trauma combined with recent events made him the best candidate to help us acquire one of their mechs.”

Simmons’ head was spinning just then, and he seemed incapable of filling his lungs up with _any_ amount of air whatsoever. The pain in his side was suddenly back with a vengeance, and he had the distinct impression that he was somehow _still_ just as trapped and restrained as he had always been before back in that horrible, terrible place…

_“Calm down, Richard.”_

He heard Price’s voice succinctly in his head then, the older male staring at him without saying a word out loud. For a brief moment, the spiral of doubt and sheer panic in his brain went completely blank and both his body and emotions relaxed.

Felix watched the event play out with a decidedly disgusted look settling over his features, “Huh. Should have figured a half-Elfie would be sympathetic to another alien.”

Sharkface’s grimace turned all the more menacing at the derogatory remark towards Price, and he took a step forward, “I’ve told you to watch your fucking mouth before.” He warned.

“I suppose all of this half-breed solidarity helps keep your work schedule afloat around here.” Felix looked decidedly amused by Sharkface’s warning instead of intimidated, “It makes sense that befriending aliens fits the bill too.”

“No one here is in danger of forgetting the overall mission, Felix. I can assure you of that.” Price interjected into the tense atmosphere, as eerily calm as ever.

“Good.” He took out a combat knife from a hidden sheath in his armor, tossing it up and down in the air in a haphazard fashion all while he kept his eyes leveled at his two apparent comrades, “Control doesn’t really care about the methods, so long as the result’s the same.”

Simmons’ green eyes remained glued on the flash of metal whenever the knife was soaring in the air above Felix’s head.

_A jutting arc of silver, followed by a shooting pain. Fire and coldness all at once. A worried, tan face swimming above his own. So damn familiar…_

_“SIMMONS!”_

He stumbled backwards, remembering what appeared to be the face of the rather blurry human who had called out his name before. But, that wasn’t from when he and Sharkface had retrieved the maroon mech. It was a memory…from some other time?

They _had_ known each other then? Just how and…

“You okay?” Sharkface was hauling him to his feet rather roughly, a mixture of both concern and agitation appearing across his face at Simmons’ sudden collapse.

“This all still appears to be rather taxing to your system, Richard.” Price spoke up just as Simmons’ freckled face heated up to the point of burning out of sheer and utter embarrassment, “Perhaps you should go to the infirmary.”

Sharkface was already pulling the redhead past a thoroughly amused-looking Felix on shaky feet before the befuddled and overwhelmed Strassian could even respond. Evidently, Price’s suggestion was more order than request.

As Simmons followed after the towering half-Arenian unsteadily, his mind kept wandering back to the heavyset human he kept having such insistent flashes of. He couldn’t help but wonder why thinking about the orange-armored man in particular was causing his chest to ache just as badly as it had when he had been trapped before.

*****

Matthews was humming softly to himself as he walked along the corridors of one of Chorus’ bases of operation. He was happy to have just finished his rounds of inventory, checking on repair parts for the various ground transports that their group utilized to get around Chorus.

Bitters was _supposed_ to have gone with Matthews to help out too, but the dark-skinned Arenian had apparently received some sort-of last minute emergency request from Palomo and Kaikaina. Such requests always seemed to happen whenever any of the three happened to be assigned this type of duty, now that Matthews thought about it, but the joke was on his teammate because Matthews had managed to pick out three different mistakes in the color-coding placement for the wrenches alone. So Antoine Bitters had clearly missed out on all of the excitement!

Not to mention he had finished the task a bit early, so that pretty much meant that Matthews had the rest of the day free.

Honestly, the lieutenant with the multi-colored hair and orange trim would probably enjoy that added perk of the assignment if he could ever manage to show up for it. The auburn-haired man sighed, wondering how he could try and tell Bitters and the others about it again without getting too flustered or teased about being a suck-up. Jensen, Andersmith, and Volleyball already knew, but they had long since given up trying to convince their other friends of its merit.

All thoughts on the topic of finishing duties early completely faded from his mind, however, when he felt a distinctive and all too sudden surge of panic. The surprising onslaught was rapidly followed with a very brief moment of agony that hit him squarely in the gut as forcefully as a punch, along with a sensation of needles being shoved into every centimeter of his body. His eyes involuntarily welled up with tears.

And, then, he felt absolutely _nothing_ except a freezing chill and a yawning emptiness that signified the sudden lack of _everything_ that had come before it.

Matthews’ chest ached and he wanted to vomit as a familiar numbness overtook him, his own gaping fear and sadness starting to overtake the empty vacuum even as he knew it could never, _ever_ come close to being remotely filled up.

He _knew_ what this meant, had felt the sensation several unpleasant times before. It had nearly wrecked him as a child when he hadn’t yet learned to dull the feelings and thoughts of those around him. Matthews was strong enough, well-trained enough now to shield himself from the most devastating brunt force of the act and, mercifully, the violent deaths he had just felt had been truly quick and no doubt not as agonizing for those who had experienced them firsthand as his dealing with the aftereffect was.

…But, he hadn’t expected to have to shield himself from that level of extreme intensity just as he was walking through a secure location on _Chorus_. He hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught at all, and it still left him reeling.

The young man stumbled forward on shaky feet, tears still streaming down his face as his blood ran cold at the sight of two white-armored bodies on the floor around the corner of the hallway. Did he know them from past assignments together? Were there even more victims up ahead?

He should contact someone. Proper protocol for this type of thing was…

The murderous intent hit him with the force of a bag of bricks before he even thought about how likely it was that the killer would still be there. The Elvari was so shaken up and overwhelmed, it hadn’t even crossed his mind at first that he was in danger.

“Matthews.” A rather snide, but altogether familiar, voice stated as two pairs of armored feet came into view from his continued downward gaze at the still-warm corpses, “Hey.”

Hazel eyes shot up to take in Zachary Miller nonchalantly standing in a pool of spreading blood on the white floor of the hallway. White armor and a white floor. How contrasting and _wrong_ all of that crimson was against it.

Miller was standing next to a looming figure in steel and green armor, and the detached way the newcomer stood and regarded the witness from within the hidden depths of his visor was even _more_ alarming.

Matthews took a shaky step backwards toward the corner he had just turned, cursing his own stupidity for having been so distracted that he hadn’t even realized the very real danger he had walked into. He should know better by this point, he…

Miller was on him before he even had the chance to run, jumping over the two dead bodies and slamming the Elvari’s back against the wall behind him with so much force that he cried out in pain, stars swimming in his vision as new tears formed in his eyes. His glasses clattered to the ground, and he wondered why he had forgotten to wear his helmet _today_.

The cold detachedness radiating off of the other man as he stepped forward to put a gun to his head masked a flurry of deep-seated emotions that Matthews was certain would suffocate him if he so much as attempted to delve more into them. It terrified the Elvari, and he tried to fight past his growing panic to attempt putting his mental shielding up.

Miller was simpler to deal with. His apparent joy at watching the yellow-trimmed lieutenant squirm easier to comprehend even if something about what was lurking further below it caused Matthews to shudder all the same.

“You know, it’s a shame _you_ of all people stumbled on us when you did, Matthews.” Miller began talking conversationally, stroking the Elvari’s neck with his index finger as he kept his hand painfully clamped down on Matthews’ throat, “I actually don’t mind you all that much, even if you _are_ a kiss-ass and an Elfie.” He glanced dismissively over at the bodies, “Things got unexpectedly complicated, as you can see. Maybe keeping one of you alive might be a good move, since your dumb leader has a soft spot for her men.”

Wordlessly, the man with the gun lowered the weapon to his side, but Matthews found that he couldn’t quite feel relieved when the stranger reached over and pulled something out of a bag that had been haphazardly slung over Miller’s shoulder.

It appeared for all intents and purposes to be a metallic crown that had been fashioned around what was no doubt quite a bit of complex machinery. The unknown man pressed a button on its side, and Matthews watched with growing trepidation as lights along the crown’s surface all lit up.

If he screamed, well, he doubted there were too many people along this side of the building even left alive. That realization caused even more tears to well up in his eyes as he tried to get air in through panicked, shallow breaths and the pressure of Miller’s hand still threateningly tight on his throat.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” Miller’s voice had gone rather sickly sweet as he tightened his grip when Matthews resumed his struggles, “Charon’s been developing ways to counter Elvari for years. I’ve always been curious about these suppressors myself.”

Matthews went completely still. He knew enough about _“suppressors”_ to know that the name was something of a misnomer. What they did was actually overwhelm an Elvari to the point of incapacity by forcing them to _“open”_ their minds up to the world around them completely.

He had experienced more than enough of that on a smaller but still very devastating scale when learning to control his mental abilities due to how unusually strong they were even by Elvari standards.

“D—don’t…!”

“Compliant hostages make things easier in the long run.” Miller cut through his terrified protest, leaning so close to Matthews’ tearstained face that his helmet touched his cheek, “We might even get to take you along when we leave. Which means no more interruptions.”

Matthews had no idea what he meant by that, but he did not like the implications regardless.

“We need to get on with it.” The silent man suddenly growled out, his voice filtered and electronic-sounding.

His speaking up caused Miller to tense up in fight himself, “Y—yes, Locus.”

The Charon operative called Locus roughly moved past Miller then to firmly secure the suppressor onto Matthews’ head.

_“Hel—!”_

The mental cry he’d suddenly had the foresight to try and get out was immediately swallowed up by a tidal wave of _everything_ hitting Matthews all at once. It was so much sensation, a cacophony that he couldn’t even start to make any kind of sense of, a simultaneous influx and outpouring that swallowed his entire being whole.

His legs buckled under him and he fell into Miller’s arms, his entire body absolutely limp as far too many thoughts and emotions were scrambling together in a jumbled mess in his mind that was just _far too much_ for him to even be able to grasp onto or gain purchase of.

He was drowning, even as he continued to breathe.

_“Hurry up.”_

Locus’ voice came from somewhere so very, very far away. After that, Matthews couldn’t discern anything.

*****

The Freelancer was called Maine. No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. According to that horror story that they had been told earlier on the surface of Trocadero, this guy was actually called the _Meta_ now. Whoever the fuck he was, he approached Washington with slow, purposeful steps.

Lavernius Tucker watched the former Freelancer take a shaky step backwards, the action left Washington dangerously close to the edge of the outcropping they were standing on as he brought up his gun and shouted: “Stay where you are!”

The creature that had at one point been Washington’s teammate and friend continued to advance, so the Strassian was left with no choice but to press down on his trigger repeatedly. Not that it did any good: Washington’s bullets went straight through the image of the Meta, embedding themselves in the rock dangerously close to the mouth of the glowing tunnel entrance that Caboose had previously entered.

That observation seemed lost on Washington currently, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Tucker. The dark-skinned man looked at the bullet holes, put two and two together, and promptly had to fight back a surge of panic himself.

“Dude, stop!” Tucker shouted over at Washington, “You’re going to fucking shoot someone!” He paused and grimaced in memory, “…Again.”

Washington didn’t even seem to hear the half-Strassian, his gray eyes wide and fixed wildly on the hulking, white-armored figure before him.

Tucker waved his arms frantically in the direction of the way too recent bullet holes, “Washington! Your shots went fucking _through_ him!”

The Meta lumbered forward once more with a threatening growl, causing Washington to take another step back. The sound of falling rocks hitting distantly against the ground could be heard as the steel- and yellow-armored man leveled his weapon directly at the middle of the Meta’s domed visor.

Washington was either going to fall ass backwards into open air any goddamn minute now, or he was going to inadvertently shoot into the mysterious glowing tunnel of doom and somehow hit Caboose in the ass with a bullet. More than likely, he’d manage a two-for-one deal because, if Tucker knew anything about Freelancers by this point, it was that the crazy assholes were a bunch of overachievers.

_Fucking perfect._

The teal-armored mech pilot took in a deep breath, the same as he did whenever Junior asked him an awkward-as-all-fuck question that made him want to either grab a parenting manual or dive out of a window to avoid answering until he manned up a second later and winged it like the awesome parent he was. He stepped in-between the two armed figures before he could really rethink his actions.

_“Tucker?”_ He cold feel Washington’s disbelieving stare practically burn holes into his back, “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of the way!”

“No!” Tucker didn’t bother looking behind him as the full-blooded Strassian ground his teeth loudly in obvious frustration over the mech pilot’s apparent suicidal recklessness, “I’m saving your blue-freckled ass whether you like it or not!”

Although, _seriously_? The least the asshole could do was appreciate the fucking gesture!

Tucker spread his arms out wide, grinning tauntingly over at the Meta, “Come and get me, mother fucker!”

_“TUCKER!”_

Over Washington’s surprisingly pained shout, the creature that at one point had been a Freelancer complied with Tucker’s request. It brought down the massive, brutish-looking blade of its weapon—sliding it right through Tucker’s middle.

Tucker blinked down at the sight of the Meta’s hand actually sticking into his armored side. The Meta seemed thrown by the fact that the massive force behind his apparent deathblow had met with no actual resistance.

Tucker turned his head slightly to smirk confidently over at Washington now that he knew for sure his guess had been right, “See? It’s all cool.”

As Washington lowered his gun, gawking in disbelief, Tucker turned back around to fix the still frozen visage of the Meta with a pointed, threatening glare that probably looked all the more fucking badass with a weapon appearing to be stuck harmlessly through his body, “I’m _not_ letting whatever you are mindfuck with Wash anymore, so just back the fuck off!”

The Meta growled threateningly in response to Tucker’s emphatic tone, but nevertheless relaxed its menacing stance and pulled its actually nonexistent bladed weapon out of Tucker’s gut. The creature vanished from sight a second later, leaving the two men standing there.

Tucker waited a few seconds to catch his breath and get his legs to stop shaking before he turned around fully to ask Washington if he was okay. Even though he thought he knew what he had been doing and it had been pretty fucking impressive, that whole Meta thing was still nerve-wracking as all fuck.

He had _not_ been expecting the Strassian to have already crossed the distance between them, his blue-tinted freckles right up in Tucker’s face. “What the hell were you thinking, Tucker?” Washington demanded angrily, clearly not caring about personal space.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I was saving you! Duh!” Tucker found himself quickly shouting back, even if he had to arch his feet up to do so because _fuck_ was Washington tall.

“You could have been killed!”

Tucker snorted disparagingly, “By what? The guy was a fucking hologram or ghost or something!”

“You couldn’t have known that for sure,” Washington countered defensively, “And yet you stupidly put yourself out there and—!”

“Nothing fucking happened, so what’s the big deal?”

Washington’s face turned a vibrant shade of purple against the spattering of freckles dotting his features that Tucker had in no way ever tried counting the exact number of before as the blond opened his mouth to testily respond…

“Are you guys done playing yet?”

Caboose’s unexpected reappearance at the tunnel entrance gave them both pause. Tucker whirled around to chastise the younger Arenian for wandering off because now he was both concerned _and_ pissed off, but he stopped short at the sight that greeted him.

Hovering over Caboose’s shoulder was a tiny, red projection of a creature that he had sure as hell never seen before, and Caboose was acting like everything was perfectly normal (which, admittedly, was typical for the pilot of Freckles).

“Caboose, what the fuck is that?” The half-human demanded instead, as Washington tensed up so badly behind him that Tucker wouldn’t have been shocked if diamonds started shooting out of his ass any second.

“Oh, him?” Caboose looked up at the floating figure as a happy grin lit up his face, “He’s my new friend. His name is Santa because he says he has presents for us!”

*****

Doc was currently working to once again staunch Donut’s bleeding shoulder as the two men nervously watched the rather intense exchange taking place between Carolina and two figures from her past. Carolina heard the two Elvari fidgeting behind her, but the cyan-armored woman remained fixated on the older, green-eyed Veroni man and the brown-haired human before her.

Neither of them should be on Trocadero for fairly obvious reasons. The dead rarely traveled to planets they had never been to, after all. And yet…

_“I can no longer hide my immense disappointment in your recent decisions, Agent Carolina.”_ The Director spoke up in his usual dismissive demeanor, _“I expected better from you.”_

“Wha…?” She began, completely bewildered.

_“Wasting your skill and ability amongst some insignificant rabble on a more or less isolated and backwater planet.”_ He scoffed derisively, _“After everything I instilled in you,_ this _is how you choose to live your life?”_

The words stung, even though Carolina had thought herself well past the point of truly caring about what the man who had once been her father had ever thought about her.

_“You should ease up on her a little, Director,”_ York chimed in, his carefree tone and attitude way too direct compared to how his usual dealings with the Director had been in the past during Project Freelancer, _“I’m just disappointed that it took her as long as it did to finally break free of everything.”_

York’s one good eye caught ahold of her own, and he smiled rather self-deprecatingly at her, _“We could’ve actually had a decent life together, don’t you think?”_ He asked sadly before shaking his head, _“But you’ve always been way too stubborn for your own good, Carolina.”_

_“Or perhaps not nearly stubborn enough anymore, with how content she’s been with merely settling.”_ Her father’s words were utterly merciless.

_“Maybe.”_ York smirked and turned to regard her again, _“Or maybe neither of us just made any good lasting impressions.”_

The half-Veroni, half-human was shaking despite herself, the verbal assault and accusations from people long gone taking its toll. She wanted to scream, to shout that they were wrong, but her mouth remained frozen shut as she clenched her hands at her sides.

Carolina hadn’t lost her way. She hadn’t forgotten anything. Her stubbornness had saved her, had saved her brother along with Washington and even _Tex_. Defending Chorus with her new family made her strong.

Being surrounded by the Reds and Blues, talking and laughing. Being with _Kimball_. All of it made her feel whole and alive once more after everything she had lost. And yet…

“This isn’t good.” Doc muttered nervously to Donut as they watched Carolina lower her head pensively.

A worried look crossed over Donut’s brown eyes as he nodded his head in agreement, “It’s unnerving to see Carolina so upset.” He remarked, chewing on his bottom lip, “It’s like someone not being considerate enough to prep before diving in, you know?”

“Um,” the purple-armored medic decided to focus more on Donut’s wound and the confrontation happening nearby than Donut’s innuendo, “If you say so.”

There was the sound of falling rocks and debris farther on behind the mystery figures, along with the distinct hum of something mechanical.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Carolina?” A sharp voice yelled out a second later, “Letting imaginary friends get the drop on you is something your dumbass brother would do, _not_ you.”

Carolina blinked, her intense gaze tearing away from the Director and York at Tex’s sudden appearance behind them. Her arms were crossed over her chest in a largely unimpressed manner as she took in the scene before her. Sheila and Lopez appeared next to Tex too, the robot glancing around with a heavy sigh.

“Estupendo. Más de esta extraña mierda de holograma para tratar.” _{“Great. More of this weird hologram shit to deal with.”}_

“Guys!” Donut called out cheerfully in relief, “You’re okay!”

“I just wish the same could be said of you.” Sheila informed the younger dirty blond as she and Lopez made their way over to where he and Doc were, “Are you all right?”

“I’m doing just peachy!” Donut was quick to reassure her before he used his uninjured arm to pat Doc encouragingly on the shoulder, “Doc here is the best when it comes to repeatedly plugging holes!”

“Thanks?” Doc’s face was completely red at this point, his fingers fumbling over the various buttons on his medical scanner.

“Sí, pero, ¿puede él realmente arreglar una herida de bala?” _{“Yes, but can he actually fix a gunshot wound?”}_

Once she was certain that the other four were safely off to the side and no one was in life-threatening danger, Tex regarded Carolina sternly, “Who the fuck even cares what an asshole like the Director ever thought about anything?” She asked the other woman, flicking an unimpressed look at the two figures from their joint pasts, “And you _know_ that York never thought shit like that about you. _Ever_.”

Carolina’s shoulders straightened at the rather unexpected confirmation of her own thoughts, temporarily overcome by her own lingering sense of remorse and guilt. The redhead clenched her fists even tighter at her sides. Her green eyes locked onto Tex’s brown ones, and she gave her a curt nod. “I know.” She stated quietly a second later, fixing a glare on the two fakes that were wearing familiar faces like ill-fitting masks the more carefully she looked at them, “There is no way I’m going to let these mind games get the best of me.”

Tex nodded approvingly, as the form of the Director let out a surprisingly in-character _“Hmph!”_ and disappeared from sight.

York actually lingered a moment longer, the smile on his face a surprisingly genuine one then, one of that reminded Carolina of happier times and secretly shared moments. _“That-a-girl.”_ He told her, winking mischievously with his good eye before he too faded away.

Tex walked up to Carolina as she remained staring at the space that the two of them had occupied mere minutes ago, “You okay?” She asked brusquely.

Black’s pilot didn’t attempt to put a hand on her shoulder or something else of that ilk, and Carolina was grateful for that as she gave a slight nod before spinning around to go check on Donut’s condition.

“Well, the good news is that he’s stable and we finally got the bleeding to stop!” Doc happily informed her as she and Tex both approached, “Who knew that bandages could have such practical uses?”

“Todos lo hacen. ¿No debería al menos tener algún conocimiento médico? Para su profesión claramente desacertada?” _{“Everyone does. Shouldn't you at least have some medical knowledge? For your clearly ill-advised profession?”}_

“I’m just grateful that Tank’s medical kit could come in handy.” Sheila remarked, “I’m rather shocked that you don’t have one, Doc.”

“I do actually, but I tend to rely on more alternative medicine so…”

“Eso no significa que al menos no tengas unas malditas tiritas en ti.” _{“That doesn't mean you shouldn't at least have some fucking band-aids on you.”}_

“At any rate,” Doc continued to inform the two former Freelancers, “Donut should probably still stay on the sidelines for the time being.”

“I feel great though, Doc!” Donut beamed up gratefully at the purple-armored media, “I just knew you could find that sweet spot!”

Doc’s face turned red once more as he quickly averted his gaze from Donut’s still smiling face. Lopez sighed in exasperation and leaned his helmeted head softly against Sheila’s shoulder as the brunette’s eyes behind her visor lit up in amusement.

Donut, apparently oblivious to the effect that his words had, looked over towards Carolina in concern, “What you about, Carolina?” He asked tentatively, “Are you okay?”

Her response was a reassuring smirk, “Never better.” Carolina told the pink-armored man before looking in the direction that the three newcomers had come from with a gleam in her eyes, “Since Tank isn’t buried, we can use it to dig out the other mechs here.” She stated without further preamble as she smacked a fist into her open palm pointedly, “Then we’ll see if we can’t catch up with everyone and get some much needed payback.”

The small group nodded their heads in agreement, quite eager to get started. No one wanted to stay in this haunted cavern any longer than they had to.

*****

“Come on, dirt-bag. Get the lead out!” Sarge’s voice echoed across the cavern as the alien peered down over the edge of the cliff he was standing on to get a better view of who he was talking to, “You are the sorriest excuse for a soldier I have ever seen!”

Grif wanted to give the red-armored man the finger, but figured that was probably a dumb thing to do while currently in the middle of scaling a rock wall. So, he settled on rolling his eyes instead, “You _do_ remember that I’ve technically only been one for a few months, right?”

“And what’s your point?” Sarge harrumphed indifferently at this reminder, a proud gleam in his eyes as he posed dramatically, “Why, I came out of the womb already signing enlistment forms and loading shells into my very own shotgun for tykes!”

With anyone else, Grif would have called bullshit. _But_ Sarge was just crazy enough that there could very well be some validity to that account, and the thought terrified the chubby human to no end.

He probably should just be quiet and remain grateful that the older Arenian male had been content with verbally wearing the orange-armored man down in his incomprehensible efforts to somehow _“motivate”_ Grif up the cliffside faster instead of taking potshots with his gun at him.

It wasn’t nearly as comforting a thought as he would have liked it to be, and Grif let out a tired sigh as he grabbed onto another handhold on the rock surface carefully. If _Simmons_ were here, at least, the two of them could have been bickering for hours on end already about proper rock scaling techniques or…

_Simmons._

The memory of the almost vacant look on the redhead’s face as he had been pulled inside Maroon by that Charon asshole filled his mind once more. The wave of sheer panic he suddenly felt then was as overwhelming as that time that his sister had told him that she was going to go commando in that super-short skirt he had told her not to buy but she had totally done so anyways because _“Fuck you, bitch, you’re not the boss of me!”_

The heavyset human pushed past the memory as he pulled himself over the ledge to sit panting next to Sarge.

“Huh.” Sarge looked vaguely impressed at the physical feat, “What lit a fire under your keister?”

Grif was about to say that he’d just been hoping he could pause for a snack or something equally as plausible and unrevealing, when he looked up and his mind froze. “…Simmons.”

He had to be fucking _dreaming_ , right? Because the lanky, way-too-pale Strassian was standing just a few steps farther away from the edge of the cliff, that same glazed-over look on his face and blood darkening the side of his shirt from where Grif had _stabbed_ him previously. That wound had to have been fixed already though, hadn’t it? How else could he be up and about otherwise?

“What in the Sam Hill?” Sarge sounded equally unnerved by the sight, so at least Grif knew he wasn’t just seeing things by himself.

Guilt, relief, and a desperate desire to see if Simmons was actually there and fucking okay because why wasn’t the blood stopping and _please let the fucking nerd be okay!_ caused Grif to surge forward onto feet that were still quite a bit unsteady due to his recent climb.

“Grif, hold up!” The older Arenian called out behind him in an uncharacteristically worried tone, “It could just be this here weird cavern place playing tricks on us again.”

But Grif wasn’t listening. Simmons was right there, and if he could just reach his arm out he could grab hold of the annoying kiss-ass, they’d get him properly looked over and treated, and then they could _finally_ fucking leave this planet and live in blissful denial that any of this weird ass bullshit had ever happened.

_“Grif.”_ Simmons’ eyes were their clear, bright green once more as Orange’s pilot approached, his mouth curving upwards in a smile just as Grif came within reach.

But just as the heavyset human reached Simmons, could all but _feel_ the fabric of his maroon sleeve against his fingertips, the skinny alien vanished, revealing the mouth of a glowing blue cave in his stead.

Grif blinked, swallowing down the potent, overpowering mixture of disappointment and frustration that threatened to overtake him as Sarge awkwardly stood close by.

Choosing not to comment directly on Grif’s currently failing attempts at not appearing upset, the older man peered into the bizarre cave instead. “Well, I’ll be…” he muttered happily a split-second later, “I might just end up liking this place after all!”

At the back of the tunnel they were standing before were what appeared to be two weapons, though the markings etched on them weren’t at all familiar to Grif. Numbly, he stepped forward until he was walking into the cave itself, hefting the larger of the two from its resting spot on the backwall.

It was a weird device that resembled a launcher of some kind with a rather sick-looking blade attached to it. All he really cared about the thing was that it was a rather heavy weapon, because he _really_ felt like he wanted to bash _something_ just then.

“So, one of the relics has chosen its new master then.”

Sarge spun his shotgun away from the weapon wall and towards the direction of the unfamiliar voice, only to be met with the sight of another mysteriously pulsating corridor in the opposite direction that led to their current location. Tucker, Caboose, and Washington happened to be standing in the corridor, a rather small and very bizarre-looking hologram floating above their heads.

The trio seemed just as surprised to find Sarge and Grif there too, and the tiny red alien-thing took the opportunity to speak up once more: “I feel that there is _much_ I should explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, Santa, there is probably quite a bit that needs to be explained still! XD Haha, it only took me nine chapters of this story arc to actually set up the reveal about what the heck is going on with all of the mind shenanigans and everything. XD
> 
> Also, poor Matthews! Lol, look, everyone: I can be mean to other characters besides Simmons too! XD Hopefully all of the angst everyone is going through will get resolved without a whole ton of more pain. Maybe. Possibly. I don’t want to spoil things though! XD
> 
> This chapter was really fun to write, but it ended up becoming super-long because I wasn’t sure of where exactly to stop it. I wanted to resolve some of the cavern scenes, get Felix to Trocadero, start up the actual drama on Chorus, _and_ set the stage for Santa finally getting the chance to explain what the heck is going on in one-go. Which, in hindsight, was a lot of ground to cover. XD I hope it wasn’t too much of a jumbled mess! :D
> 
> Events both on Trocadero and on Chorus are currently heading to a boiling point now as the _(Always) A Trap_ portion of this turning-out-to-be-way-longer-than-first-expected Mech AU enters its last couple of chapters! :D Thank you so much for reading. :D


	19. (Always) A Trap {Part Ten}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The classified files room was a dumping ground for any and all information gathered that may or may not have any kind of past, present, or future importance to Chorus. The collected data was all carefully, painstakingly compiled and sorted through before any decisions were made about what to use it for. Since it was so oftentimes classified data, one needed so much clearance to gain access to the area. The sheer amount of encryption levels for everything that the room stored made it pretty much a garbled, scrambled mess of code. Simply looking at it was like trying to decipher what amounted to a shit-ton of gibberish unless someone either knew how to gain access or figured out a way to break through the coding.

Leonard Church had actually _tried_ to do that once, simply for something fun to do while he and the rest of the Freelancer remnants started trying to adjust to life on Chorus. It was back when both Carolina and Tex were trying to ignore their emotional issues, the result of all the deaths and betrayals, by throwing themselves into constant training or security exercises. Back when Washington did the same on top of trying to nurse both himself _and_ his picked up along the way tagalong Simmons back from being nearly torn in pieces in a metaphorical sense. Back when a pissed-off, thoroughly distraught Church _also_ needed something to keep himself from doing something incredibly dumb like trying to rip out the nanites residing in the glowing cobalt lines along his skin thanks to his asshole of a father.

Back then? Hacking a highly classified security system designed to help keep a struggling backwater planet afloat as the rest of the galaxy seemed to want to see it fail seemed like just the thing to do.

Besides, Church _wasn’t_ a trusting idiot after everything that went down thanks to the project. It had taken veritable _months_ following the escape from the _Mother of Invention_ for Freelancer’s remnants to find _any_ place willing to give them safe harbor thanks to Charon’s growing influence in galactic politics and what exactly it had turned out the Director had been doing with Freelancer serving as his front. Chorus probably wouldn’t have even given them refuge if they hadn’t been in such dire straits themselves. It just so happened that the mechs were a great boon in the wake of the surprise attack that had cost Chorus the leader known as Donald Doyle. It had been a case of mutual benefit for both sides.

Church and the few he now considered family? They had been burned before, and they had been burned fucking _badly_. The Veroni didn’t want to ever be caught up in a position where that happened again. So when he learned about the data storage room, after Kimball had told them that their specific information had also been temporarily stored there, Church decided to go ahead and do a little digging.

Kimball let Church try and make his way through all of the stored, fractured data for about an hour before sneaking up behind him and informing him of the surveillance measures one Doctor Emily Grey had helped to create, and then she surprised him further by actually _giving_ an outsider like himself complete access.

After he had pondered over what exactly Chorus could gain from such a gesture, which wasn’t a whole fucking lot and they stood to lose a lot more if he proved to be a defector or some shit later, Church begrudgingly started to think that _maybe_ they could find a more trustworthy, stable sort-of life on Chorus after all.

He wasn’t exactly too keen on the thought that a bunch of _“humans first”_ jerks were now threatening that.

Kimball, from where she stood next to him in the dark, seemed to sense Church’s thoughts as he tensed up nervously. The long-eared woman rested a steadying hand on his shoulder for only a second, and the dark-haired man barely had a chance to glance over at her as the faint sound of the power lock on the classified file room’s door began to activate.

The lighting panels overhead flared to life as the two Charon operatives, that towering mercenary dick calling himself Locus and the younger spy space pirate Zachary Miller, stepped inside. They still seemed rather refreshed following that murder spree they had merrily engaged in on their way here after Miller had given Locus access to the more secure areas of Armonia. The two mercenaries paused briefly at the sight of Church and Kimball lying in wait for them, weapons drawn.

Church couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed over his goateed, cobalt-lined face then, “Surprised, assholes?” He asked, feeling like a badass. Which he was, damn it!

Locus tilted his helmeted head slightly, “Even with Miller’s infiltration proving successful, it was only a matter of time before we had to take the next step.” He muttered matter-of-factly.

“Is that step _always_ to leave a bunch of corpses lying around?” Church demanded angrily, “Because it’s no wonder you jackasses have such a shitty reputation.”

“Ha!” Miller sneered, “As if your Freelancer pals are any better.”

Church grimaced, his finger pressing down further on his gun’s trigger. They had all thought they had been doing the right thing before, but…!

“Quiet.” Locus’ voice came out in an electronic snarl in Miller’s direction, causing him to flinch, “It is an unfortunate necessity.”

“Yeah, well,” Church scoffed, “I guess to you it is. Not like we’d give you the intel, even if you asked fucking nicely.”

“You understand then.” Locus said as if he was just going through the motions.

He couldn’t see Locus’ eyes at all through the man’s darkened helmet and that pissed Church off to no end, “Fuck off.” Church told the mercenary bluntly, realizing once more why trying to converse with murderous, anti-alien extremists was a goddamned stupid idea.

“Drop your weapons.” Kimball ordered, her own gun held quite steady in front of her and her voice emphatically calm despite the anger radiating off of her person, _“Now.”_

“Yeah, I don’t really think so.” Miller stated in such a smugly pretentious way that Church ground his teeth to keep from biting back an ill-conceived retort when the jackass pirate shifted what the Veroni had incorrectly assumed earlier to be spare armor hanging across his back that the jerk had been keeping.

Upon closer inspection, it was definitely _not_ just a suit of armor as the totally out of it form of _Matthews_ slumped to the ground at Miller’s feet. The Elvari kid’s eyes were wide open, but he was obviously not registering anything going on around him. If he hadn’t caught just the slightest sign of breathing, Church would have suspected the worst.

As it stood, it still wasn’t actually the greatest situation to be in. He didn’t even have to look Kimball’s way to know that her grip had become slightly unsteady at this new development, the same as his. To emphasize the sudden shift in the atmosphere, Miller put his own gun directly against Matthews’ face underneath the suppressor keeping their Elvari hostage incapacitated.

“If you would prefer avoiding another casualty, I would advise you to give us access to the data we require.” Locus informed them once he had properly assessed their hesitation.

“Son of a bitch!” Church muttered, at a loss for words as Kimball finished his cursing under her own breath. They both glanced at the other then, definitely not having expected the notion of Charon ever even entertaining the idea of taking hostages. This was totally unprecedented. Usually they just killed aliens they came across. Locus was unpredictable, and that made him scary as fuck.

“You have thirty seconds to decide.” The mercenary in steel and green informed them flatly.

“Fucking _fuck_!” Church didn’t hold back with his swearing, not at all sure of what to do next.

No wonder none of their added security had gotten in contact with them before these two showed up. They had most likely backed down at the involvement of a hostage and had been ordered to remain silent. These Charon bastards were using their enemies’ innate not-actual-asshole nature against them.

They needed to reassess the plan now. The door had once again closed behind the Charon jerks and Matthews, so there was no fucking way for Church to peer further into the hallway to see if any of their soldiers were trying to slink their way close for clear back shots without being noticed. The locking mechanism on the door would certainly alert them all if someone were to try opening it now.

But Church had definitely not been expecting the all-too sudden and deafening _explosion_ that threw the metal door in question inwards rather violently, causing everyone capable in the classified files room to leap out of the way.

“Yoo-hoo!” Doctor Grey’s cheery voice sang out over the din of the fire following, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought some reinforcements!”

Of course Grey would pick up on the situation despite Kimball and Church trying to keep it under wraps, and naturally she’d take it upon herself to figure out a plausible countermeasure to their dilemma. Church had never before been more grateful of the crazy doctor lady’s penchant for staying on top of any upgrades she had helped design.

“She means us, you backstabber!” Palomo declared as he stepped through the wreckage, landing a hit on Miller’s shoulder to get him to drop his gun just as Locus dove out of the way of the bullets that Kimball and Church launched in his direction.

Miller barely had a chance to cry out before Andersmith flew past Palomo through the flames and smoke, shoving the Charon spy away from their yellow-trimmed friend and onto the ground in a violent clatter of armor-covered bodies. Jensen and Bitters both raced over to Matthews, as Grey entered along with Kai and Volleyball, who both joined Palomo with pointed weapons at the two enemy combatants.

“Thanks for the assist.” Kimball stated to the doctor and assembled lieutenants with a nod of her head, her demeanor once again turning threateningly cold as she focused her attention back onto Locus in particular, “ _Drop_ your weapons. I won’t ask again.”

Locus didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to comply despite how much the odds had changed. Instead, he almost casually drew himself up once more to his full, staggering height, “It seems as though Control has underestimated Chorus.” He stated, “Though the same could also be said of you.”

The frown beneath Kimball’s brown and ice-colored helmet was plainly evident in her voice, “What do you…?” She trailed off however, at the sight of Church, Grey, and Palomo all stiffening uncomfortably. Church grimaced, the energy humming all around them had changed suddenly, sending tingles across his skin.

_“File transfers complete.”_ An automated voice informed the room’s occupants a moment later as a computer screen off to the side beeped.

“Shit!” Church swore into the uneasy stillness crushing in on them, “They must have a Veroni working for them!”

Which really didn’t make a whole lot of sense given Charon’s opposition to non-humans. Sure, they were willing to enlist some half-aliens to their cause, but their enlistment policies were usually enough of a deterrent in and of themselves unless someone _really_ hated that part of their heritage for whatever reason. So who…?

“All our mission required was for us to gain entry.” Locus stated, turning Church’s bewildered attention back to him just then as he told Miller, “We’re done here.”

“R—right.” Miller grunted through his pain as he somehow managed to kick the much larger Andersmith off of him. He stood up, gripping his wounded shoulder as blood trickled down his arm, “I’ll get you assholes back later!”

Just like that, the two Charon operative suddenly vanished with the help of some rather impressive cloaking tech.

“Hey! Watch it!” Kai shouted as someone roughly shoved her into Volleyball and Palomo. The three lieutenants shot out into the hallway along with Kimball, but there was no point in wasting too many shots on hostiles they couldn’t even see. They lowered their weapons disappointedly.

Behind them, Grey clucked her tongue, “That’s a shame. I was _so_ hoping that I could demonstrate the power of my new bone-saw today.” She stated with a heavy sigh, “But I suppose there’s always next time!”

The doctor promptly turned her attention towards Matthews, who Bitters was cradling protectively in his arms as Jensen hovered over them worriedly, “Is…is he going to be okay?” The Strassian girl asked, biting her lip nervously while everyone crowded around, “He’s just lying there.”

“Come on, Matthews,” Bitters muttered under his breath, giving the auburn-haired young man a slight shake, “Wake the fuck up!”

Palomo joined Jensen’s side, his usually carefree demeanor as he looked down at Matthews’ limp form replaced with obvious concern. Jensen reached over and gripped his shoulder consolingly as Church distantly recalled that the half-Veroni and Matthews had grown up together here on Chorus.

“Huh. You know, when my big bro hits the snooze button one too many times, a good smack usually does the trick.” Kai said as she frowned thoughtfully, “But I kind of think that wouldn’t work here.”

“Quite right.” Doctor Grey was quick to inform the younger Grif as she knelt down on the ground in front of Matthews and Bitters to get a better assessment, “I’d very much advise doing _anything_ to jostle the suppressor on Lieutenant Matthews’ head.” She looked at the offending device with a distasteful gaze, “There are very few ways to remove them that don’t cause permanent damage.”

“Then how do we…?” Volleyball began to question, trailing off rather helplessly.

Without so much as a word, the purple-lined Veroni turned her gaze over to Kimball standing on the outskirts of the huddled group, removing her helmet and seemingly unsure of how close she could be without intruding on the others’ concern or Doctor Grey’s task. Grey gave Kimball a curt nod before moving out of the way.

The dark-skinned woman frowned slightly but seemed to understand what Grey meant as she quickly nodded back and stepped forward, bending down over her fellow Elvari. Silently, Kimball tentatively removed one of her gauntlets and then brushed her fingertips over the glowing circlet on Matthews’ head. The complex circuitry completely shut down at the contact, the device splitting in useless halves and crashing to the floor.

Matthews’ whole body seemed to relax and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief as his eyelids closed.

“Impressive.” Andersmith spoke up, “But how did General Kimball know what to do?”

Grey watched Kimball slowly rise to her feet once more before speaking as if to make sure she had no objections, “Elvari who lack the innate telepathy normally associated with their species can safely override suppressors, it’s that tech’s biggest flaw.”

Kimball’s expression remained impassive despite the reminder of her apparent _“defect,”_ and Church was rather impressed. No doubt she was just grateful that it happened to prove beneficial in this case.

“He’s…he’s still not waking up though!” Bitters’ voice had a slight edge of panic as he stared down at Matthews with wide brown eyes, his grip tightening slightly.

Grey smiled reassuringly, “It is going to take time for his system to recover from being so overwhelmed, but he is much better off with that horrible device not on his skull now!”

Bitters’ frown deepened and his eyes still remained glued to his friend, but he remained silent.

“Will you all be dears and help me get Lieutenant Matthews to the clinic so that I can run some tests and properly monitor him?” Grey asked cheerily, “Inhaling all this smoke isn’t exactly doing his health any favors either, you know!”

As the group quickly worked to do as she said and help out their friend, both Grey and Palomo turned their gaze to Church for a moment, their worry evident. Church let out a tired sigh, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be sure to tell Kimball the damage while you help out Matthews.” He assured both Veroni.

As the group exited and other soldiers came in to deal with the explosion damage, Kimball turned her regard to Church rather expectantly, “What was it exactly that Charon managed to get their hands on with this stunt?” She questioned.

Church frowned, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Honestly?” He asked, dreading having to be the one to tell her, “Fucking _everything_.”

*****

“So what exactly is this place then?” David Washington asked, his voice seemingly echoing along the tunnel’s walls just above the soft hum of the glowing rock.

“Fucking really?” Tucker shot the older man an incredulous look, “That’s the first thing you ask when meeting a talking, ancient alien hologram?”

The Strassian blinked, taken aback by the remark, “I’m at a loss. Just what should I be asking instead?” Washington asked Tucker, clearly curious.

“Um, for starters, how about if the glowing rocks are poisonous or radioactive because you know for a fact some asshole at some point in time is going to try licking them.” The teal-wearing man stated matter-of-factly.

There was a brief pause as the blond-haired Freelancer tried processing what he just heard, “You seriously think someone would come across clearly ancient, advanced tech like this and want to lick it.” Washington stated flatly.

“Yeah? How else are you going to fucking claim it, dude?”

Grif snorted at Tucker and Washington’s conversation, hoisting his newly-acquired weapon up even higher, “Clearly someone has never heard of calling dibs.” He said to Tucker as if this concept was totally not idiotic.

Sarge nodded his head in reluctant agreement, “Interstellar Dibs Protocol has clearly been recognized by most planets now.” He said, “It’s why these Charon fellas are up to no good because they obviously do not respect it!”

“Well, that and the whole _“enslaving everybody else because humans rule”_ thing.” Grif was quick to point out.

The red-armored Arenian huffed, “Obviously.” He replied, as if horrified to be agreeing with Grif.

Washington was staring between all three of these dumbasses in a flabbergasted fashion, “I have no words right now.” He finally muttered under his breath.

“Yes, I am also confused.” Caboose raised up his hand to gain everyone’s attention, and then he lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “Are you licking the rocks or not?”

Washington slapped a hand across his helmet, “No one is licking anything!” He shouted in exasperation.

“Bet you that’s the first time you’ve ever told someone that, huh, Wash?” Tucker snickered, raising his hand for a quick high-five that no one was in the mood to give him just then, _“Bow-chicka-bow-wow!”_

Washington groaned from behind splayed fingertips, “Please stop talking.”

“So then, do you want Caboose’s new friend to answer your question or not?” Grif asked Washington, an oddly impatient note to his voice, “Because I’m all for just taking this shit and going without any exposition if it gets us out of here sooner.”

Washington frowned, knowing that the sooner they left the quicker they could rescue Simmons and retrieve Maroon, as well as hopefully halt whatever Charon was up to on Trocadero. But they definitely needed answers too.

“Answer, please.” Washington requested of the A.I. hologram still floating by Caboose.

“Certainly.” Santa flickered slightly, “I would advise against licking anything as—”

_“No.”_ Washington groaned again, “About what this place is and what’s been going on here.”

“Ah.” Santa nodded his head as if showcasing how he felt this was a much more crucial thing to answer _(which it definitely was!)_ , “These caverns are in fact a complex network of ruins that have been designed to house some of the Keys: weapons meant to be wielded by the chosen pilots of the Machinae.”

Washington’s brow furrowed, “Machinae?” He repeated, “Machines?”

“Dude, I think he might be talking about the mechs.” Tucker stage whispered to the older Strassian.

Santa tilted his red, reptilian-like head in the dark-skinned man’s direction, “Yes, that is what the Machinae are commonly referred to in modern times.”

“Hold up.” Tucker spoke up again, “Aren’t they supposed to have been created by some long-lost civilization? One that sort of looks like you or something?”

Grif frowned, “Yeah, so what gives with the dead Earth language term?”

The A.I. flickered again, “I don’t know.” Santa stated as though the very idea that he didn’t was honestly disconcerting to him, “There is no record that exists as to why that term was chosen in my memory banks.”

“That guy with the weird hair who used to be on TV was right!” Caboose intoned seriously beside him, “They visited the Earth to kill the dinosaurs and then have pizza!”

“The Romans didn’t invent pizza.” Grif informed the Arenian with a sad sigh, “Though it would be awesome to go back in time to Italy when they did.”

“Huh.” Sarge tapped the side of his shotgun thoughtfully with his trigger finger, “This conversation’s taken a very weird and oddly specific turn.”

“You just now noticed that?” Washington’s voice rose incredulously.

Santa, to his credit, decided to move things along as though none of the asides had even happened, “Long ago, the Machinae were hailed as the defenders of the known galaxy. But some of their pilots developed differing concepts on how to best keep the galaxy truly safe.”

“Let me guess,” Grif began sarcastically, “That in turn ended up fucking everybody over instead.”

The tiny hologram nodded, “A war the likes of which had never been seen before erupted, ultimately resulting in the annihilation of my creators, the race that had created the Machinae and Keys.” Santa paused briefly as if recalling something he would rather not just then, “Those Machinae that survived the ensuing chaos were scattered across the galaxy to await the time when they would need to choose pilots once more.”

“Did they just get lonely then?” Caboose asked quietly, as if not able to bear the thought of that being the case for Freckles.

“Perhaps, though they are also able to become aware of turmoil spreading far and wide.”

“Ancient alien bullshit, in other words.” Grif muttered.

Tucker whistled, “Which I guess is why they started activating recently, because of Charon and all the other bullshit starting up?” The half-Strassian questioned.

“It seems highly possible.” Santa admitted before looking to the ground pensively, “Though I hope the outcome of these conflicts will not be the same as before.”

Grif snorted, “You and me both, pal.”

“We’ll just have to annihilate them first before it comes down to that!” Sarge declared rather emphatically, “Everyone knows that the only surefire way to avoid destruction is through destruction itself!”

“That seems extremely counterproductive, actually.” Washington noted.

The older Arenian harrumphed at that argument, “Never thought of you as a no-good quitter like Grif here.” Sarge commented.

“Hey!” Both Grif and Washington mumbled at the same time.

Tucker, in the meanwhile, had walked over to stare at some of the glowing symbols on the rock wall beside the place where Grif had retrieved his weapon from. He seemed to be scanning them rather intently, “This says pretty much the same thing in a really boring way,” he noted suddenly before turning to look over at Santa inquisitively, “But it also mentions some kind of security system here too?” The others simply stared at Tucker in open shock and disbelief, causing the half-human to bristle slightly in defense, “What?” He demanded uneasily when the silence continued, “You guys can’t read it?”

“It is too circle-y.” Caboose stated, “Looking at it makes me dizzy.”

“Uh, yeah, like Caboose said. I’m pretty sure no one here can read it, Tucker.” Grif was quick to inform him.

“H—how did you…?” Washington gaped incredulously.

“I sure as heck can’t, but I’ve snapped a few photos for Doctor Grey.” There was an almost wistful edge to Sarge’s voice then upon mentioning the dark-skinned scientist back on Chorus, “She’s quite the marvel when it comes to ancient alien stuff. I bet this will just tickle her pink!”

“Come on, it’s totally plain as fucking day!” Tucker tried again, waving his hand over towards the wall.

“Tucker,” Washington began gently, “None of us can understand that.”

“It is most intriguing that you can.” Santa noted, “Have you studied ancient and lost languages extensively?”

Tucker scoffed derisively, “Do I _look_ like a fucking nerd?” He asked.

His choice of words caused a frown to form on Grif’s face and he gripped his weapon, so eerily similar to Maine’s Brute Shot now that Washington got a better look at it, rather tightly. Washington decided it would not be a good time to bring up how interested Simmons had been in that very subject when he had last spoken to Doctor Grey.

“There was a holographic security system put in place to help secure the two Keys here.” Santa noted once it was clear that Tucker’s baffling knowledge of the writing wasn’t going to be explained just then, “But someone with some Elvari blood amongst those you refer to as Charon has figured out a way to warp its mental scans and alter them.”

Washington’s mouth pressed into a firm line, “Price.” He gritted out.

The hovering, altogether alien form nodded once more, “I have been unable to bypass the changes he has made and can only project myself now.” Santa explained.

“Well, these assholes have definitely been doing a great job using it to mindfuck all of us.” Tucker’s expression softened slightly at the obvious grimace on Grif’s face then, “But screw that! We’re going to get our nerd friend back and kick all of their asses.”

With that, his head turned in the direction of the other Key still hanging on the wall, a small metal grip that didn’t seem nearly as intimidating at first glance as Grif’s bladed grenade launcher did.

“Tucker…!” Washington’s warning trailed off the second Tucker’s hand gripped the ancient weaponry.

“We might as well take this with us too since we’re mech pilots and all that, right?” Tucker asked the former Freelancer over his shoulder before yanking the device free.

A strange, blindingly bright sword made of energy suddenly erupted from what Washington now surmised was the weapon’s hilt, causing Tucker to whistle down at it appreciatively.

“Oh, this cave just has all sorts of flashlights!” Caboose breathed out happily, “We should play light tag!”

Washington’s shoulders slumped even more, “Maybe next time, Caboose.” He assured the younger man in blue.

Sarge started making his way towards the direction that Tucker and the others had come through earlier, “Now we just need to find the others and skedaddle.” The older man stated.

“Don’t even bother.”

Everyone started at Tex’s voice filling the air, and they spun around in the direction that Grif and Sarge had come through earlier to find the blond-haired Veroni standing there. Her face was smudged with dirt to the point that her glowing black lines were barely visible underneath it, and she absentmindedly flicked a bit of rubble from her shoulder.

When she looked over at their stunned faces again, Tex smirked, “You assholes have no idea all the shit we’ve gone through to find you.”

*****

The room that Richard “Dick” Simmons had been escorted to earlier to rest was a small one originally used for storage. It had been modified to serve as a temporary bedroom of sorts with a cot pushed against the far wall. He had honestly been rather grateful for it following the earlier encounter with Felix, as that had been a rather painful reminder of how precarious his entire situation here was.

Price, _Charon_ , had saved him. But he now knew that had only been because he was still useful to them thanks to the odd bond he had with that maroon-colored mech. They definitely wouldn’t have assisted a full-blooded Strassian for any other reason. Not only had Felix made that abundantly clear, but Simmons had become much more aware of the hostile regard the operatives gave him when they thought he wasn’t aware of it.

Given that, the redhead was rather relieved to not be sharing his sleeping quarters with anyone.

However, being by himself in a dimly lit room with the door currently closed brought forth its own set of troubling issues too. As a result he remained sitting uncomfortably upright on the cot with his back pressed against the wall, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to try and sleep. He _couldn’t_ lay down at the moment in this space because whenever he attempted to do just that, the memories of _before_ would start flooding back.

Those long months? It had felt like a fucking lifetime of imprisonment, honestly.

Every time he tried to lie down to sleep now, Simmons recalled the sensation of being lain down prone and limp on other bedding, of being utterly unable to kick back the cocoon of blankets that had so often been wrapped around him in some twisted view of domesticity.

He remembered the man, a fellow Strassian and a fucking _doctor_ that his father had given him to like so much produce. Simmons had never learned his name (hadn’t had the decency to give it to one of his _“patients”_ ), or the name of the doctor’s Arenian assistant who so cheerfully talked incessantly in an annoying, suck-up fashion in regards to all of the results they were getting over the course of the treatment. Honestly, Simmons wasn’t sure which of the two he had hated more.

The doctor had been adamant at playing up the part to a tee once they had gotten Simmons isolated away. Anything done that was cold and clinical had to be balanced by some kind of _“gentleness”_ towards Simmons in his helpless state. It was all to help him better adjust to his new role, to help quicken the desired results they were waiting to see.

Simmons had been spoon-fed Tevkask pulp every day to keep him immobilized. With no way to know what was going on outside of his room and no one attempting any meaningful conversation with him, concepts like time, like his life _before_ , had lost all meaning.

His chest and stomach in particular had started to ache, to feel _tight_ , and he had started losing the will to try and mentally fight back against what that ultimately meant, his frantic instincts to do so only resulting in him becoming all the more weaker.

His feverish state and whimpering only ever seemed to please the doctor and his assistant, who seemed to see it as some sign of progress in regards to their treatment efforts. They nursed him through those episodes, the doctor in particular always cooing something or other about him.

The doctor would constantly chide him for still resisting, for dirtying himself. He’d remind him that he was really doing Simmons a favor: the redhead wouldn’t have been in this position at all if he hadn’t been so useless to his father, that this was his last chance to prove he could provide something viable to both his family and the galaxy and he was so _very_ fortunate that Simmons had a medical professional like him there to make sure it would happen.

The doctor would always end his visits by patting Simmons’ stomach while the redhead mentally recoiled in lieu of his body being unable to physically do so, the doctor assuring Simmons that it was almost time, that they were only selecting the best candidates for when they were able to finally proceed to the next step.

Those flashes of memory had horrified Simmons senseless when they had occurred, and they sure as fuck continued to do so now. And so he _couldn’t_ lie down with them so painfully fresh and vivid in his mind, as if he was only ever just wishfully dreaming that he had indeed escaped. Even the darkness creeping into the room was bothering the Strassian. The doctor had always kept him in the dark too, whenever they had left him by himself.

Simmons glanced over at the closed door and frowned.

…It certainly didn’t help matters any that, despite having full range of movement again, he had the growing sense that he had merely been placed in yet another kind of prison regardless of Price’s reassurances to the contrary.

He couldn’t ever seem to fully shake this looming _fogginess_ from out of his brain, and despite feeling some relief at his change of circumstance, he felt like something was noticeably _missing_ too. The flashes of memories, images of people he felt an odd sense of warmth and longing towards, as if he should _know_ them more than he did.

An assortment of colorful, varied people he felt like he wanted to know better but at the same time didn’t deserve to unless he proved himself constantly.

A Strassian in steel and yellow, offering him advice despite his own lingering trauma and insecurity. A tan-skinned girl who also bore the blue-tinged freckles of their people, who had sought assistance from him even though he felt there was no way he could ever properly give it. A chubby human in orange who both made him anxious as all fuck and who was startingly easy to talk to. Who thinking about _ached_ , but who he wanted to think about even _still_ at the same time…

Every time Simmons tried picturing these people more as he tried to discern just how they fit into his life _(certainly not before his captivity, definitely not during)_ , the fogginess returned thicker and his head would hurt. He’d get a flash of the doctor, as if trying to scare him away from going down that path any further for fear of what else he might uncover.

Of course it fucking worked. He was far too pathetic, avoidant, and useless for it not to. And none of that fucking changed his current situation any, did it? Shakily, he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly.

The door opened just a moment later, the intimidating form of Sharkface filling the space. Simmons was oddly glad that it was him and not one of the others though. At least Sharkface seemed okay with talking to him from time to time.

“Doing all right in here?” Sharkface asked gruffly, as if the answer wasn’t completely obvious given how Simmons was acting.

The Strassian let out a sharp intake of breath, deciding to just get out the question that had been circling through his mind with fearful intensity, “I’m not,” he paused, swallowed down a lump in his throat, “I’m not getting out of here, am I?”

There was a long, suffocating moment of silence following the question as the burnt half-Arenian regarded the maroon-wearing man in a rather scrutinizing way.

Simmons nearly panicked, thinking he had overstepped whatever good will Sharkface had been willing to show him thus far, that he was about to either get killed or once more be tossed into a literal cage because the façade of anything else was over.

At length, the other man spoke up, “It’s probably best if you just keep doing whatever it is that Price tells you to do.”

The redhead gave a slight nod as Sharkface quickly walked out once more.

He closed his eyes shut tightly and simply tried to focus on his breathing, caught off-guard when that orange-wearing human suddenly came to his mind amidst his failing efforts to try and relax, his body relaxing somehow even as something _ached_ in response to the mental image.

It was still better than he had felt in a long while, so Simmons did his best to cling to it.

*****

The plan was, as far as Dexter Grif’s understanding of it went, a rather simple one. After they had all reunited in the underground ruins and reached their only recently unearthed mechs, Santa had helped them reach a path that led back up to Trocadero’s surface, complete with a very useful vantage point to the _“colony”_ below, now not even attempting to cover up the fact that it was a Charon research facility.

From the look of things with the hustle and bustle down below, it seemed as if the extremist group was planning their departure, meaning that their work here was probably close to being done. Which meant that they would probably be trying to take Simmons with them, along with Maroon, unless they decided it wasn’t worth the extra trouble anymore and simply killed the pilot.

That idea caused Grif’s stomach to clench, and he tried ignoring that troubling train of thought. Like fuck was he going to let anything else happen to Simmons, especially not after Charon screwing with _his_ own mind first had landed the poor nerd in this spot to begin with.

Charon didn’t yet know that the group from Chorus had managed to make their way back to the surface, that they were currently spying on them and strategizing as they went about their preparations.

Which meant it was the perfect opportunity to strike back, if not their _only_ opportunity.

They were going to divide into two teams: a mech assault would be used to distract Price and his goons while the secondary team would sneak into the grounds to rescue Simmons and hopefully retrieve Maroon too.

There had been no debate as to which team Grif would be a part of, and he was grateful that no one had even tried to argue about it.

“I’ll go too.” Washington stated not a split-second after Grif’s declaration, “I want to help Simmons, and I would like to have a few words with Price before we leave.”

“Really? You don’t want to just kick his ass like he totally fucking deserves at this point?” Tucker asked, raising an eyebrow.

An extremely dark look flickered briefly across Washington’s eyes then that had several people take a few steps back from him, “That’s another way to put it actually, Tucker.” He finally uttered.

Sarge guffawed and amicably clapped Washington on the back, causing the younger man to stumble slightly before regaining his footing, “I’m always up for a good ol’ fashioned butt whooping! Count me in.” He yelped jovially.

Tucker stared at the three who had so readily volunteered and let out a sigh as he gripped his newly acquired sword’s hilt tightly, “No time like the present to test these Key things out, huh?”

“Si alguna vez llamas espada a tu espada, nos van a demandar.” _{“If you ever happen to call your sword a Key Blade, we are going to get sued.”}_

Following whatever sarcastic remark Lopez had made, the mech assault team was decided upon in record time. Well, record time for a group of idiots who usually took hours deciding on pretty much anything. Once back on Chrous, Grif had finally just walked off to get his own food instead of starving to death when Donut had tried getting them all to go on a _“group dinner”_ for some team-building exercise. And he wasn’t even going to attempt to recall all the times that Donut had spent getting Doc or one of the others to try and help him decide on appropriate yet fashionable footwear for missions for everybody.

Carolina was well and truly _pissed_ at this point, so much so that Tex was the only one with the balls to stand within several meters of her. Not surprisingly, she wanted to lead the charge, “You and I will get things started with Black.” She informed Tex curtly, “That all right with you?”

Tex inclined her head, “We’ll give ‘em hell.” She said almost as jovially as Sarge would have.

The two females shared a smirk that instinctively had Grif want to duck and run for cover. If Charon weren’t such assholes and currently putting Simmons, along with everyone else here, at risk, he would almost feel sorry for the poor bastards. Almost.

“I’ll ride along with Donut to keep an eye on his wound.” Doc declared.

Donut smiled gratefully over at him, “Gee, thanks, Doc! It’s good to know that I can always count on you to fill up my holes whenever they need plugging!”

The brown-haired, bespectacled Elvari blushed and mumbled something incoherent under his breath as Grif staunchly resolved to never recall that particular phrasing again.

“Sheila and Lopez will help provide ground support in Tank.” Carolina stated as the two teammates in question nodded their agreement.

“Can I help?” Caboose inquired, “Freckles always _loves_ playing tag with bullets.”

Tex patted his arm, “Sure, Caboose. Just remember that you’re both only supposed to tag the other guys and not us this time.” She reminded him.

“Todavía tengo una bala alojada en algún lugar que preferiría no decir de la última vez.” _{“I still have a bullet lodged somewhere I'd rather not say from last time.”}_

Sheila smiled over at Lopez consolingly, and he briefly rested his helmeted head on her shoulder before getting up to check on the status of the mechs before they started the mission.

“I would like to offer my assistance as well.” Santa stated curtly as he materialized over Caboose’s shoulder again, “I can provide visual guidance and support, if nothing else.” He looked over at the Charon forces down below, “I am not incredibly fond of their interference with my systems.”

“We’d welcome it.” Carolina told him, “If you wouldn’t mind staying with Caboose and Freckles?”

“Not at all. I find his way of thinking highly enlightening.”

“Yay! This will be the best game of tag _ever_!” Caboose exclaimed, “I cannot wait to tell Freckles! Church and Sis are gonna be so upset they missed out on it. We will have to do a do-over for them later!”

“Sure, kiddo.” Tex grinned, “I bet they’d like that. Church in particular. He’s always up for dodging bullets.”

Personally, Grif was just glad that they had managed to get all of this as quickly sorted out as they had. He didn’t really give a fuck how they did it, so long as they got Simmons back and he knew the ass-kissing, blue-freckled nerd would be okay.

It was pretty much a gigantic, anxious blur for Grif up until Carolina _finally_ gave the order for them to move out, and it was only a few scant minutes following that before all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are…have a chapter where I so very obviously got inspired by _Voltron: Legendary Defender_ in my woefully painful world-building exposition! XD
> 
> Also, I totally attempted to throw in homages to International Dibs Protocol and to Season 16 here, along with some poorly placed, probably hard to figure out joking references to things such as _Ancient Aliens_ and _Kingdom Hearts_. Clearly, I am quite hip and not at all a giant nerd! XD
> 
> I am still feeling not too great due to some rather upsetting developments in RL, so I tried throwing in some more jokes to try and cheer myself up as I wrote which, admittedly, had mixed results.
> 
> Oh, and the mention of a Veroni working for Charon and that assistant with the annoying voice that Simmons recalls? They MIGHT just be hints at future important character reveals. Maybe. XD
> 
> Anyways, this particular convoluted and very confusing story arc for _Shiny Things_ is actually just about to reach its conclusion! One chapter of rushed, horribly written fight scenes to go and then an _“aftermath”_ epilogue where I finally get to throw in some much needed comfort moments and relationship interactions for everyone who has been so patiently waiting for them in this AU. Where will things develop from there in future updates? Who can say? :)
> 
> {I probably should be able to, lol, but I don’t wanna spoil too much as I figure things out myself along the way. XD}
> 
> Thank you so much for bearing with me and this fic, and I hope you enjoy what’s to come in it! :D


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